Your voice.
I haven't heard it before. Not directed at me.
But I can imagine it is as entrancing as the bristling branches, slender willowy fingers, grasping wistfully at the tailcoats of the wind. Slow down, my love, I am always holding on.
I've never really looked into your eyes.
I can say I've tried. But the restraints and the unvoiced nerves pull me away, because it's just a distant dream, you don't feel the same way. But I'll always be here, if again you come by.
Just a second.
Hang back for a second, get lost in the moment. So easy as the streamlined shapes cutting through the waves. At ease, my soldier. That small smile, once more. Then I'll go now, I swear.
Your interlocked fingers.
Her head rested gently upon the black of your duffle coat shoulder.
The way you talk, so knowingly. Your voice. Just how I imagined. But it is hers.
You are lost in the moment. I am lost in the coldness of reality, that my restraints did indeed, hold me back.
A gentle touch of lips.
And I saw it, my closest stranger.
I will go now. I swear.
YOU ARE READING
Unrelated... A series of weird and wonderful poems
PoetryA collection of the unusual and the very usual poetry, A collection, a series, A set which grows over time © P.H.Dyer, 2011-2012 All rights reserved Note: I have had issues with people using my work without authorisation, and so I've had to put thi...
