By: Linda M Crate

you talk and talk and talk
i think you like the
sound of your own voice
trying to carry the moment on,
but i’m growing weary
of the heaviness of your bones;
we are but strangers,
and the things you tell me are
of little consequence
i wonder if you know the moment
has been lost?
as you barrel on with the cheapest
of wines
it’s clear that you cannot read me,
and i grow more and more
impatient;
come up with some excuse where i can
leave
you seem hopeful that I’ll return
but how could i suspend myself in such
a gilded cage for your entertainment?
you may be beautiful,
but you need to learn the world doesn’t
revolve around any person but
around the sun.