A slight!

you took my poems

for 'cliche', the cutethe pulled petal in the field of daisys
the awkward silence between boys and girls
the chase at tag, the touch;
the drooling boy speckled with a bow
at a wedding
and never seeing it was true.
And entering maturity you find
the duldrums of dull life
the black and white
the cutting board
the cutting knife
the man and his wife;
domestic life.
But realizing this,
to you
no matter what I write
will always be
the trite
after the
trite.

but realizing this, to you

no matter what I write
will always be
the trite
after the
trite