it is of course the waiting, which can drive us mad, when one realizes that they have feelings for someone else (to put it lightly) & this is twice as difficult when the mystery of
she read Shakespeare without the words, relying on the actions only--- words after all had brought her nothing but grief in her short life & she found honesty to reveal itself
had s/he listened to his/her friends who’d done their time prior in the dives & clubs that the city churned, or to those that were still slinging slop to the fishes gulping down
passing through stillness where death has been laid where the crows go to schmooze where the wind blows the grass & tickles the Autumn leaves across the plain---