Poetry, a Gun, and Steve

Okay, here's a poem I wrote recently... I've revised it a couple times, but this is the first time anyone but me has seen it.

Waiting for Your Words

I feel bad, there’s so much
about me you know,
you said as thick black
cloud covered Moon’s
full yellow face. We both
sat on bleachers facing
the Elementary school’s
cement track. Our elbows
rested on our knees, chins
in our hands. Wind sighed,
forcing air through the gap
separating our stoic bodies.
Weeds rustled uneasily against
our metal seats, whispering
sympathy for my lack
of knowledge, for the year
I spent waiting for your words,
your past. When you failed
to break the silence, I gazed
up at Moon but could not find him.
He was there some place, I knew,
lying beneath Sky’s heavy blankets.
Let’s go. As we walked across
the track to your car, I wished
on a shooting star that Moon’s veil
would be lifted. But when I looked
over my shoulder, Moon was
nowhere to be found and your
silence was still unbroken

Well, I guess I shall be the first to post here, even though I'm not entirely sure exactly what I'm doing. I think that the blog idea is a really good one. I don't have any of my poetry on me at the moment to post, though. I'll throw something out there for (possible) discussion: Anyone else like Sylvia Plath? Hate her? Never heard of her? Who is your favorite poet?