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Growing Old
Time is tasting our tangibility,
Wrapping skin into creases of dimly lit memories
That hold our minds together like breath
Carries us.
Our fingers rest upon bedspreads now,
As sporadic images warm our cold skin
Like flame beneath paper -
Memory burning the moans of shivering palms.
My thoughts have started to slide apart
Like tiny tangerine slices
As they ripen and soften.
Nectar swells in my eyes
And spills to the curves of my jawbone.
You kiss their quiet presence away
And remind me
Of their sweetness
For the last time.
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This article has 9 comments.
I love this so much. I don't know what kind of stories you've been hearing about lately, but I sure hope I can find love like this.
-Naomi
Wow. This poem is filled with wonder and wisdom in equal measure. I wish that the rating device was functioning properly. I tried to rate it 5 stars and it came out as one! Also, lots of people are trying to rate it are not able to... Keep writing...you are very talented.
