31 Aug


It is a comfort to love…
sitting in my doldrum,
awash in sedentary ease,
I stare at her photograph…
only in vaguest memory,
it was as if she fell away,
I held her hand too long…
I can only recall her eyes,
she waited for me then,
while I was not myself…
somewhere in dreaming,
a moment here to stay,
she is the whispered air…
there is a kind of solace,
the ease of knowing now
what had been a perfect day.

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Posted by on August 31, 2015 in My Poetry



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