The Night Stand

~ Max The Poet ~

Who knows what sort of thing,

Did wake me once again,

I search for my pad of paper

And my special writers pen.

I feel as if you've come to me,

In the middle of the night,

Lingering just long enough

To see the words I write.

The thoughts were merely fragments

Of the loneliness I see

Each and every time,

You go away from me.

Then I realize, all is well

And that you have come to me

In the middle of my dreams,

The place you always seem to be.

Our rendezvous is captured,

Scribbled out, longhand,

Loving thoughts of you and me

On a pad by the night stand.

~ Click here to read more of

Max The Poet ~