The edges of me have rubbed away ...
All my corners, all my angles,
Acute and obtuse alike.
Clouds have more harshness,
Satin, wickeder barbs.
My eyes throw no daggers.
My tongue holds no sting.
Come to me, my love,
While I am like you.
I know we had that great big late-birthdays-for-everyone deal last week after I realized we missed your birthday at the start of this month,...
Okay!
ReplyDelete(I meant "Okay!" like "Okay, I will!" not like "Eh, your poem is just OK." Probably you figured that out but I want to make sure!)
ReplyDelete