right person, wrong place
i still believe he's my right person but at the wrong place
he speaks the language of love
and i speak the language of war
he lives in crowded bars and busy streets
i live in a furious ocean with passing boats
but somehow we still find a mutual shore
a red light and an anchor
he's my right person
at the wrong place
at the best time.
YOU ARE READING
Griefing Twenties
PoetryA book filled with poetry by a tortured poet, till her ink bled.
