The Wait
Well strung, the string on which you hang
Suspense–so tense, I sense your form
Has waited long enough
A strum, my fingers brush your strings
Some low and pleading song you breathe
Perhaps the time has come
Then so should I–my absence end
I can’t deny the warmth within
Would be a pleasant turn
Unhinged, perhaps, suspension broke
Release at last–to probe your depths
Then gladly to return
A poem about my hiatus, of course. My apologies. I mustn’t be too easy to capture–some suspense can be enjoyable, can it not?
~Tam