TF (9-4-89 / Cold room*)

Without Rhyme And Reason

I call you irate,
and push you away.
We yell 'stalemate, '
I weep latter night and say,
'I love you' to nothing,
and words you never hear.
Like 'to me, you're something'
'a siren I fear.'
I keep in illcontent,
Smile to the masses.
Keep in mind, i'll never repent.
For you, I take off my rose colored glasses.
Everything mute,
at night, at bay,
your picture, though minute,
I kiss the same at the end of each day.

by Turner Foster

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