Linda Studley

Can't Put the Pen Down…

When?


227-photo for poem

When you’re gone
I find myself in the uncomfortable company
of my own self far too much.
I miss your symbiotic intelligence,
your unerring ability to catch
what I’m pitching,
scratch when I’m itching,
tolerate, placate
when I’m bitching.
It’s probably good for me to experience
introspection a little
every now and then. When
will you be home?

#227

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