For A.S.

With all my cavorting
– and yours on top! –

we never know
who we’re dealing with.

You told me today
that sometimes

you did not know
who you were talking to

when talking to me –
my inner child,

my outer child,
my higher self

or whatever
(I don’t have

the nomenclature
down), and which

layer of you was
communicating with me.

“We’re complicated,”
I said. “No,” you said,

“complex.” That
definitely came

from your mouth
and went into my ear.

– James Steerforth ( © 2009 )

Written upon inspiration by “covert” for Sunday Scribblings.


About James Steerforth

I am an author of poetry and fiction, translator and painter who loves to have fun with borrowed feathers.
This entry was posted in Bland observations, Creative writing, Enigma, Life, Literature, Poetry, Writing and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.

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