Poetry

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You didn't seem my type
And your age just didn't fit right
Two years younger than I
I wasn't searching for anybody.

I thought I had it all with her
Until you spoke those words
That burnt me deep within
The face Of my serving spoon is slotted
In the shape of an ancient footstep
Of an undiscovered extinct relation
Of our hummingbird.

Who let his frantic sole
Be traced only once in private
I am very small without you.
I am mailed into the incision
Walking toward you.
WILFRED JOHN
POET
WRITER
JOURNALIST
[email protected]

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