Postcards

They’ve been tucked away

Plain postcards covered in scrawls

Small talk , futile sentences

Words that would offend none at all

I should have picked the flawed pen

And used immoral ink

To stain each of those postcards

With what I truly think

Postcards I should have posted

Kill me a little every day

Reminders of three lethal words

I might never again say

 

 

 

 

 

Tempest

Raindrops trickle down the windowpane

They’ll be gone when the storm subsides

But damp cheeks must endure the outpouring

Until she silences the storm inside

 

( Read somewhere that Love shelters you from the storm …but what if love is the storm ? )