The Distraction
In a world created, out of paper and books;
Sits a little white flower, the most compelling in looks;
She distracts me from work, she diverts my attention;
Occupying my mind, the least of her intentions;
And as I fantastically dream, of her wrapped in my arms;
Never would I dream, of doing the least bit of harm;
And as I daydream in fantasy, of her cheek against mine;
We'd be watching a movie, with no conscience of time;
But as I walk thru the door, and take a step towards advancement;
I find out we attract, I like wood to a magnet;
👁 3💬 0
Something wrong with this poem?
Replies are closed for this poem.
Your Poem's Voice
See what makes your poem unique — its voice, energy, themes, and the literary traditions it draws from.
Comments (0)
No comments yet. Be the first to share your thoughts.
Log in to leave a comment.