Gray

By
More by this author
Your paper lips are drawn down
by gravity,
framed by fleshy etchings
of the hourglass’s olden sand.

A tongue hesitant
to murmur resentful words –
but the words are there,
in a morning cross-word puzzle
reflected in your eyes.

Regret whispers on the breeze of your sigh,
an untold story resonates in your voice’s pitch,
a pining rasps with the scrape of your bones –

and unconditional love
tickles your rusty smile –
it seeps through every embrace,
it empowers every step.

Sometimes
your lips twirl up toward heaven
and then I know you know
the joys of your life and mine.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback