Silver slivers of longing,
White collared servants,
Strangers who will
never glide warm fingers
down my spine.
The futile fumbling of
a once poet,
now clay mind,
forgotten muse.
I miss you already,
my long ago destiny,
my never calling.
Silver slivers of longing,
White collared servants,
Strangers who will
never glide warm fingers
down my spine.
The futile fumbling of
a once poet,
now clay mind,
forgotten muse.
I miss you already,
my long ago destiny,
my never calling.