poetry by j matthew waters

chatting over mid-morning coffee

take special care
not to beat yourself up
just because of
misplaced memories

your word against the truth
may or may not exist
not in this world
or the next

subconscious realities
keep me on edge
like pressure cooker time bombs
ticking in city square

I’ve long felt most relaxed
back in the future
where love is in the air
and nights rarely end

december two thousand eighteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved

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