While I was away
I wrote to you.
The ink from my pen
made love to the paper
night after night I sat
painting my emotions
each stroke of my pen
felt like I was under the influence
sedated by some potion
you threw all my letters out
as if they were tampered evidence.
YOU ARE READING
Poems Upon Poems
Poetry"As she stopped to catch her breath, She looked back only to realize that He was no longer holding her hand Now she must walk in the dark alone." #48 12/29/15
