and we, on Monday mornings, no longer meet.
and we, on Monday mornings, no longer meet.
what am i supposed to do
when I watch the distance between us -
(through the back windscreen of our lives)
stretch
like a tree-lined dirt road, winding; far away, big as a house?
shades change, and we’re a pair of yesterdays
swinging ourselves inside-out
what am i to say
when on the edge of me, in the middle of no-where
love and maybe’s hide, in side streets, in-between stars,
between sighs, twisting the truth?
tomorrow creeps up - quiet . . .
carrying the basket full of hope
the glass half full, the black and white of reason
and we, on Monday mornings, no longer meet.
290708
when I watch the distance between us -
(through the back windscreen of our lives)
stretch
like a tree-lined dirt road, winding; far away, big as a house?
shades change, and we’re a pair of yesterdays
swinging ourselves inside-out
what am i to say
when on the edge of me, in the middle of no-where
love and maybe’s hide, in side streets, in-between stars,
between sighs, twisting the truth?
tomorrow creeps up - quiet . . .
carrying the basket full of hope
the glass half full, the black and white of reason
and we, on Monday mornings, no longer meet.
290708
The path to true love isn't always straight.
(Uknown)
www.algonquinstable.com
(Uknown)
www.algonquinstable.com
- hester_prynne
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