The moment that I let you in, I knew—I had
a crystal-clear vision of my fingers failing to clutch
at you, even the tips of your hair or the hem
of your clothes. Why then should I chase it,
why not banish the unspeakable heaviness
of affection? Circumvent and reinvent,
let the street lights and the pavements slick
with fallen rain pull me into their midst.
This poem is a raindrop, but a raindrop
on the cheek of Earth, and its import
a theme of yesterday. Why must I
write it, and in writing think of you?
~~~
A/N: June rains = sentimental daydreaming. I'm attempting to become active here again, so I hope you like it. :)
YOU ARE READING
Read my Eyes
Poetry“The tongue in flattering falsehood deals, and tells a tale it never feels; deceit the guilty lips impart, and hush the mandates of the heart; but soul’s interpreters, the eyes, spurn such restraint and scorn disguise.” (Lord Byron) Probe mine. Tell...
