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poetry: always late

Photo-ClockFace-v2-iPhone.jpgI pride myself on being on time
For so long I was always late
I’d wait until the last moments
To get ready for a date
Toes were tapping by the door
A wrist studied for its face
Questions asked without good answers
What’s the hurry where’s the race

I think more clearly, plan ahead
No more rushing about in haste
I calculate the clothes I’ll wear
Put makeup on my face
A calmer man I like him more
No longer has to wait
Time to relax enjoy the night
And both of us feel great

© 2014 deb davies thorkelson {debrazone}   |   words: may 7, 2014   |   image: iPhone photo

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