Those three words
were declared
too quickly for you
by my slow tongue –
with a cluck of uv
Spilt – splattered
like my milk
from my missed
breakfast spoon –
three spills
mopped by you
Let them dry
and mark our time –
still too short of hours
to curdle
to ferment
to be quite – yet
those three words
were spent
by my slow tongue
having found
no other words
to gift to you
Like this:
Like Loading...
Related
Published by Mike Bell Poetry
Mike Bell's expanding collection of poems is his ongoing response to actual moments – conjured memories – and a fearful future.
His ambition is to publish 10,000 poems, and then take a nap.
His writing continues to be reproduced in various formats and journals – he also throws himself out there in occasional readings – open mics and poetry sessions – when his body is willing.
Mike Bell is found working for money as a freelance set designer.
View all posts by Mike Bell Poetry
