Newt
The things I cannot tell you
The things you’ll always leave to me
The object of your desires
The right to be a lone killer.
I will then and there
Be them what isn’t a new or old one
But a life-with-all to be asked for
Newt.
Copyright B E Saunders 2016
TOO LONELY TO MAKE SENSE - AGELESS POETRY - DADA 