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Across the street our eyes meet and embrace in a strangers stare. Your hands would be warm, strong, comforting- your laugh even more so. Though you’ve never liked tomatoes, you’d put them in the salad just for me. Your eyes would tell me stories of rainforests in Brazil but I’d have to look hard to write them. Your body- …you’re gone. Blinking white figure tells me to cross, and like last nights rain, you’re gone. |
This is a superb, even an exceptional poem! I loved it, loved it, absolutely loved it! bravo... bravo... bravo...| Posted on 2008-06-18 00:00:00 | by Algol46 | [ Reply to This ] | blissful and sweet in a precise yet meandering way; i like where this took me. | you have a voice not many have. don't let it get eaten by wolves. really. | Posted on 2008-05-22 00:00:00 | by silent strings | [ Reply to This ] | Your eyes would tell me stories | of rainforests in Brazil but I’d have to look hard to write them. Your body- …you’re gone. Blinking white figure tells me to cross, and like last night's rain, you’re gone. Another beautiful mirage melts into the moving mass of eyes, polite conversation, goddess worship and the demands of life. This was nice, wry moment of "love doesn't quite fit into my schedule," rendered in a tangible way. Perhaps next time they should cross the street on a collision course known as 'romance.' Then the little white figure cold dance in the street with them. :) Just a thought. You should consider refining this or expanding it, but don't abandon it. Bill | Posted on 2008-05-17 00:00:00 | by rws | [ Reply to This ] | |