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 Ornaments and flowers,

Beaches and wine.

I could give you my voice,

But first give me your glamour, so divine.

I could read out Ulysses to you,

Speaking words which with I made myself,

And lies with which we hurt ourselves. 

I could be you like an Ernest Hemingway novel. 

And write for you,

In a sun-packed hotel.

But I do not.

Hear me writer,

i am a fold you know.

You have seen many strangers,

But they weren’t kind to you. 

Fail me better,

Another day another time.

Laugh out louder,

You shall be a happy man,

In the limelight

Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on


2 thoughts on “Slow

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