a pace
at which things are growing
making the sand
set at making
there are just so many times I am going to say this
I know you know I missed you
and where are we made
or where are we now
how many times you need to be cured
of an illness that seems self inflicted
and you have never been so excited
as the idea of a future
that we can share together
placing my face in your hands
picking out the fun to have
going at a maximum slowness
don’t forget
we have a date set

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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