I hear your sweet voice and
Never shy to remind you of it. You say
My voice can cure chronic deafening,
But your words help a broken heart.
I call you the evermost endearing
Thing to me,
And you call me everything
Beautiful in your Irish tongue.
I don't want to say I love you, not at all.
YOU ARE READING
Noyadé
PoetryA series of small works: finished works and unfinished scraps and sober thoughts and inebriated words and drunk minds and me. All of me in here.
