by Nicholas Leung
When will love walk in?
With his Sunday best made of
Long lost letters
Or wearing the hearts of regretters?
Will his heels drag across the warm wooden floor
Or stride until his lungs are sore?
Standing tall like a pin
Or stumble right in?
When will love walk in?
With a voice that trembles
And resembles my own
Or boom and let himself be shown?
When will love walk in?
With an answer in hand
An answer with skin
Olive and tanned?
I drink from the past
My own personal gin
Maybe I get to choose
When love will walk in.
