workingSomething like coming home,
You soar across the miles,
Willing the clouds to part and show
Those beautiful, anticipated smiles.
But later, discontent,
To me you will complain
He never smiled, and barely spoke to you;
It's no surprise; he knew you'd go away again.
I wrote that in February of last year, when I was still very dubious about the concept of polyamory. Hmm.
E.
x
