Sign True

So, my best never my best ever friend
Got burnt all the way down to her roots
But she’s roaring back, just ask Goodwill
With a new attitude that her perfectly suits—
Don’t offer me flowers
Don’t offer me fine wine
Just be real for once
Show me a true sign
That I count as much
As the future you divine

Texted into the night and then called
Quite the fulsome love story
Ruined by a rich tortured soul
Oh, my poor Morninglory—
Don’t offer me flowers
Don’t promise hot dice
Just hear me one time
That I am worth as much
As this shiny Mercury dime

And so the night got enough old
For her to make her goodnight
So the story folded right there
My heart still wrapped up cold and tight—
Didn’t pledge her flowers
Didn’t promise her better days
Just want to be worthy
To share my humble love sign
That she’ll always exceed
Any future we’d dare to design

About Kitt

Sometimes a rhyme or couplet wanders across my consciousness. So, I share it. Other times I'm a hospice social worker; others, a Dad; others, southerner, New Orleanian, cajun enthusiast, voter, and on better days, a not-too-awful-poet/rhymster. Welcome to my page. Enjoy.

Posted on April 28, 2020, in Poem and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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