Sunday, March 6, 2011

Clutch

You kill me with the slightest touch,
I know I over think too much,
As we converse 'bout such and such,
Dying for a truth to clutch,
Such banter keeps the tides at bay,
But sunsets always fade to gray,
My begging eyes cry out, "please stay,"
Never will I forget that day.

1 comment:

Creative Commons License
poems and thoughts by E.A. Skanchy is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License