Lolita picks a flower
She prances through the grass
Frantically searching
She looks at me
And I fall for her all over again
Lolita sings a song again
I ask myself
Why is she here
With me
She's the soft whisper of a name while I am the harsh slam of a door.
YOU ARE READING
Perfect Hurricane
PoetryWhen Lolita spoke nothing else mattered He could only hear her The loud noise of passing of cars and pedestrians and screaming sea gals was nothing compared to the loudness he heard in Lolita's voice A soft voice that put him to sleep every night A...
