I wish I could
write these words for you
to read or apprehend
but, you don’t like reading,
not more than a sentence
and my despair
cannot be contained,
in a mere sentence
but flows rumbling like
those thundering rivers, down
the mountains you never liked
with myriads of meandering streams
but you say, my love
I’m dry along the course
cause you love no mountains and rivers
Or me
I’ll never reach the sea
so I try and bury inside a sentence
Of 3 words and 8 letters
but you’ll never read them too