by T.M.

The clock’s minute hand
Is now nearing the hour mark,
Once, now twice.
Words have so effortlessly
Spilled into sentences,
Sentences seamlessly slipped
Into sighs of affirmation,
Casual confessions,
Anticipated acceptance.
Familiarity nips at us like
A fresh winter frostbite,
Too pressing to ignore,
Too much like right,
Too easy,
Like Sunday Morning.

Conversation by T.M.

© Copyright . All rights reserved. No portion of this work may be duplicated or copied without the expressed written consent of the author.

TimBookTu Logo

Return to the Table of Contents | Return to Main Page