By Nikki Quismondo
Your eyes went away from the table
along with the echoes that formed into
a cascade of doubt
Yesterday you were rubbing my feet
hands of grass brushing against the arches
Tenderly as the days of dinner nights and cabernet
Today, I'm trying to comprehend your soap opera
your heart has made it's own federal law
Pleading its case into the abyss of lonliness
I'm at a point where I may need to dive into your ocean
Your complexity has turned me into a surgeon of hope
I sit at your sea cliffs indecisively
A muse only has inspiration and hope
A lover, ties into your locked body
There must be a middle path!
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