Sunday, March 6, 2011


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.

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