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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.

9 thoughts on “Slow

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