Pretty Mouth (today's 365/365 poem)
He says your eyes turn green when you make love.
Lots of them have said that, some like they were genuinely mystified and
others like they were trying to lay claim to something
undiscovered.
December knows your best secrets.
You don’t have to say much. Those self-defeating hints
you’ve been trained to drop do little when thrown against
the sound of a train that won’t stop for you.
There’s not much you can do.
When the tourists have gone home, when the wail of a silent telephone
wakes you, remember why you keep those broken boots
beneath the bed.
Did anyone ever tell you?
You look like an amateur, wobbling down the avenue
in those shoes.
Lots of them have said that, some like they were genuinely mystified and
others like they were trying to lay claim to something
undiscovered.
December knows your best secrets.
You don’t have to say much. Those self-defeating hints
you’ve been trained to drop do little when thrown against
the sound of a train that won’t stop for you.
There’s not much you can do.
When the tourists have gone home, when the wail of a silent telephone
wakes you, remember why you keep those broken boots
beneath the bed.
Did anyone ever tell you?
You look like an amateur, wobbling down the avenue
in those shoes.