Elizabeth Shield Poems
your accent is like, cherry-caramel to my ears
my favourite flavour, and it kills
me when you stop talking, to ask if I am
listening; I hear your tones more than your
words, my dear
You are a man grown, but afraid
Of the future and it's billows
Of what steps to take
Between your many choices,
Between action and inaction,
And then subside.
No choice is still a choice.