the platitudes of willful resemblance

never write when it rains, it always ends up about the rain so I start with the rain and end it with…

I watch my wife shave her legs and remain hidden, covered by the bathroom door.

Posted on April 25, 2012 at 12:07 pm in love poem, Poetry, Short poem, Uncategorized   |  RSS feed |   Reply   |   Trackback URL