The Judgement of a Review Upon The

I got very poetic the other night and I told you what I thought of you.

It was funny how you scoffed at my foolishness and my verbiage.

With the whisp of a black Bic pen.

Like my words meant so little and the world was yours for the taking.

I think it may have been at some point in time, though, and so I forgive this and allow you to be the you that you are.

With the whisp of your smile upturned and your nose high in the air, you simply laughed at my vocabulary.

Like my words meant nothing and you were everything and everything was something more than I had to give.

Painted blue and green and bright, I wanted something that was anything and you took it all away.

With your pen.

Like them.