Sign up to save your podcasts
Or
Share Oh, I have dallied (1)
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Share to email
Share to Facebook
Share to X
Or
Oh, I have dallied (1)
by-Matthew F. Blowers III
Oh, I have dallied
in such wonderment,
lost in the study
shared between
four pupils entranced,
in the school of
life's denial.
Intense, merciless
longing like a soul
ripped wide, a wound
that would tickle
ever so gently
in her healing.
Lips that float
into my view like
stop signs
holding me back,
when all I want to do
is rush to them,
breaking rules so cruel,
that forbid the exposure
of what cannot be.
I am the empty
limbs of autumn,
the icicle tears
of winter,
the seed that lies
wasted on
barren ground
in the spring,
and the undulating
heat of August
rising over roads
never crossed.
All packaged in
the wrong flesh for her.
Would that it could be
unzipped, and
stripped away,
allowing me to slip
into the fortunate skin
of the one who will
know her love
at its finest.
Like a thin gruel
loneliness wallows
cold and tasteless,
in the bowl of my heart
View all episodes
By Art~Whimsically Yoursby-Matthew F. Blowers III
Oh, I have dallied
in such wonderment,
lost in the study
shared between
four pupils entranced,
in the school of
life's denial.
Intense, merciless
longing like a soul
ripped wide, a wound
that would tickle
ever so gently
in her healing.
Lips that float
into my view like
stop signs
holding me back,
when all I want to do
is rush to them,
breaking rules so cruel,
that forbid the exposure
of what cannot be.
I am the empty
limbs of autumn,
the icicle tears
of winter,
the seed that lies
wasted on
barren ground
in the spring,
and the undulating
heat of August
rising over roads
never crossed.
All packaged in
the wrong flesh for her.
Would that it could be
unzipped, and
stripped away,
allowing me to slip
into the fortunate skin
of the one who will
know her love
at its finest.
Like a thin gruel
loneliness wallows
cold and tasteless,
in the bowl of my heart