I stood watching
As you crossed the street
For the last time.
Trying hard to memorize you.
Knowing it would be important.
The way you walked,
The way you looked back over your shoulder at me.
Years later
I would hear the singing of the wind
And that day’s singing would come back.
That time of going would return to me
Every sun-gray day.
December or February it would be the same
For years to come.
Man has not made the kind of bromide
That would let me sleep without your memory
Or written erotically enough
To erase the excitement of just your hands.
These long years later it is worse
For I remember what it was
As well as what it might have been.
As you crossed the street
For the last time.
Trying hard to memorize you.
Knowing it would be important.
The way you walked,
The way you looked back over your shoulder at me.
Years later
I would hear the singing of the wind
And that day’s singing would come back.
That time of going would return to me
Every sun-gray day.
December or February it would be the same
For years to come.
Man has not made the kind of bromide
That would let me sleep without your memory
Or written erotically enough
To erase the excitement of just your hands.
These long years later it is worse
For I remember what it was
As well as what it might have been.
3 comments:
HOLY CRAP.. GOOOD POEM.. WAY TO GO GIRL
You liked it? I found it in one of the books I had at home, so don't be fooled. I can't write good. It made me feel like it was about me. I'll put up the rest some other time.
yes i liked it.. and u can write, you just don't like to...
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