The Drag
conversations at night
when you cannot sleep
arrive at a drag, not like
the one we had nights and
nights before
when we still do not know
much about each other
our bodies and
pasts, our way of projecting
ourselves to a certain future,
we begin to search for
the meaning of a present
and i realize
there is nothing much to
meaning, just a drag, to let
the hours pass, without killing us
neither tickling us,
boredom works full time
and we do not ask when will
this last. we are the experienced
class, the category that asks no
more, because we think we know
for sure, we think we already know
what we do not.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Added by Poetry Lover
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