Exploring one’s pockets

Everytime I look at you I feel an itch that needs scratchin’

I feel a hole that needs patchin’

As my hands go in my pockets

To feel the wellin’ of the thing

Called snake

I wonder if I

Can ever get over you

As still I feel longsome and wholesome

Toward you and your method of escaping

My humble clutches.

Instead I hold me and I wonder

If I could ever be there again

Beside you on the swing outside our neighbours

House.  I will go down to the woods today

And see what I can see and find for you

To hear about in school.

Copyright B E Saunders 2016

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