What's in

Saturday, March 12, 2011

written 1/10/11

From Summer to Winter,
and Summer Again

Empty, full; left, right
tall, short; black, white.
Right, wrong; odds and ends
opposites, rhymes; straight, bent.
You're there, but I'm here.
Our eyes own an assembly,
and they know each other.
We don't.
But still I wait, even if
my fingers itch to be buried in yours,
and your heart jumps to lie next to mine.
When our lips will touch,
and the time is right,
we will know
you are for me,
and I for you.

No comments:

Post a Comment