It’s midnight, and I’m writing poetry.
Suddenly I feel my belly burning
With a craving for popcorn… or cookies…
Or maybe just another cup of tea.
I drown desire with a glass of water
And return my attention to writing,
Perchance to satisfy my lust for words.
After all, poetry pulled me from bed,
Away from your side, where you lay sleeping.
There too I wanted what I cannot have.


Copyright © 2018 Abigail Gronway – All Rights Reserved

Ten lines of verse with 10 syllables per line
Rhythm and rhyme are not required.


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