As my feelings intersperse like milk staining water,
I wondered what was wrong with the young lady in my company,
Her wailing was just a mild starter,
I found it trifling as my mind was skirt with the obscure scene before me.
As I ran around the edges of the circumference of my now hollow think,
where the hue is somewhat mid-day-wanting-to-rain-dark-blue,
I frowned at the most grotesque play before me,
I asked and asked……..
How can she not want my stew?
Drenched in unequivocal sorrow,
In penance, I see my own faults clearly.
I had not complimented her picturesque,
How could she be hungry, when she’s half full of disappointment?
Beautiful read.
Lol...what's she disappointed at?