Poetry · Writing

writing in your palms

You asked what you mean to me:

I stopped and laughed like a joke

only because I knew you wanted the truth.

It’s like this- I wouldn’t trade you for anything,

million dollars, pass on it-

fame and success, move on it-

the afternoon on a park bench waiting for Raisin to stop bullying the birds,

that’s where I’ll

be.

It’s not simple like a rhyme

or catchy like a tune

because tomorrow you’ll mean more

and the sun will be gone

off to see Mars and it’ll be just you

and me.

What do you mean to me?

The cop to a robber

to lock me down to Earth

so I won’t miss a single sun set

placed bet

listening to Keith Sweat

in a jail cell for two

Blue Moons and-

I keep getting distracted into your eyes.

They remind me of the moon

and I’m the tides.

One thought on “writing in your palms

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