when i’m broken
torn,
with
all my conceit,
neatly
shorn.
perhaps
then she’ll know,
my desires stifled,
muted,
hushed, shushed,
though still,
as still as innocence,
reborn.
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when i’m broken
torn,
with
all my conceit,
neatly
shorn.
perhaps
then she’ll know,
my desires stifled,
muted,
hushed, shushed,
though still,
as still as innocence,
reborn.
The Manic Scribbler