In the isle stands the have not yets.
Have not yet begun, beget, not yet tangled in longing or regret.
Meandering around slow, but with purpose. Finding hope in stolen glances and imagined exchanges which they reframe from coincidence to calculated romance.
They've not yet, but would bet, yet hesitate,
arrested by negative assumption.
Another day championing stalwart isolation and self recrimination.
Who would-a, could-a, should-a, but never did.
YOU ARE READING
Revisions of Me
PoetryThis is a collection of poems from shortly before Covid, all during it, after my long term relationship dissolved mutually, and beginning my trials and tribulations of dating and specifically online dating, aka Hell. I tried not to tamper with the v...
