December 28, 1977
Poetry by Michael F. Nyiri
The Letter Sent
Can I predict the prediliction of the letter sent
Or will it be
Will she spit and spurn
Or forgive
Or even love again.
For once, my intellectual muse,
Who showered me with words for every
occasion once,
I feel as if my questions aren't unfounded.
Is it that I the cynic, found love
In a two year old relationship.
Harry said I should call years ago.
But he's only an asshole who thought
I just wanted sex.
Doesn't he realize that sex without
love is bullshit.
Doesn't anybody?
No. I know that answer. They
think I'm like them.
I know I'd like to rekindle a
relationship with the only person
who was ever good to me.
(Good, she was an angel.)
But do I dare even wish for that.
If she forgives me I'll be happy.
Prediction of prediliction fulfilled.
copyright 1999-2004 by Michael F. Nyiri
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