A hug would be nice. Maybe a little footsy under the warm duck feather duvet. Even a stroke from a gentle hand on one’s back could quench the urge to feel awfully sorry for oneself. So many souls around, yet they seem to all swish past in a rush to conquer a more suitable heart. I get it… Maybe there is no room for One in most hearts. Maybe an orgasmic high is the new way to care. But how many highs does it take to realise a committed soul that would like nothing more than to nurture and receive the same. Life never waits. Someone removed the pause, fast-forward and rewind button. We are stuck with one button.
-frank malaba- (the morning minute collection series)
Frank Malaba Prosetry 
Hi! Frank
I read your poem “Morning Melancholy” loved it and I was really intrigued by your words that truly say what’s really is happening on ones heart and at times one never finds that someone special to share their lives with not even a cup of Coffee ,things these days have changed as in people wanting to just sleep around and never care to show feelings of emotions and never love others as they only love Sex .
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Thank you for taking time to read. It is amazing how the world and relationships evolve, hey?
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