you, for whom i write
when
when will you
read
yourself
in me.
you, who flow through me
when
when will you
cease
colouring my innocent page.
you, who say ” i don’t know you enough”
when
when will you
say
stop
you’ve written much.
you , who never read me
when
when will you
ask
no more
“what does this poem mean?”
