the poetry knook, the poetry of stephen m. james

Til death due us together

the beautiful hurts me,
and she asks me five ****in’ times if I really mean it
when I tell her she’s the most beautiful creature that God ever made
(You know. . . at least I believe you when you compliment me!)

rules are broken in pairs, it seems
actions more valuable than boxes sitting on my chest of drawers,
and I can’t cash these actions until I die
(because we both know we’ll never see each other again.)


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