J M Horr

and I don't know
where she lives
I only imagine
her room
...

so you found this poem on the floor
it was destined to be torn, to be no more
on knees at a crawl
you pieced it back together
...

as I over look the water
the old lady stares back at me
there's a bee crawling into a flower
a concert in my head
...

you took my jacket for a smoke
and in the pocket you wrote a note
you said:
I'll be in your bed tomorrow
...

I'd rather my ears
than my eyes
the I could truly see
the thoughts in me
...

soft yet constant rain was
falling that day
an umbrella to share
yet both with wet hair
...

always the trouble
nearing completion
or miles from it
will the pen just
...

don't be mad
for I cut up all your
pants
pink ones
...

the sea pulls back whispering
to reveal salted stones shimmering
bored yachts beached
sails trapped tired and tight
...