Smitten Poem by Benjamin Feliciano
Smitten
This cold is hard to shake.
It follows,
And I am rapt with its embrace.
It clings,
And I feel it grimace.
I wish her comfort close,
To bless me with her grace.
I long for that hand in mine,
That arm around my waist.
Disoriented and without comfort,
My pulse slows like sludge.
Though once I felt it race,
My heart does not budge.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
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4/19/2024 10:21:40 PM # 1.0.0.1119
