by C Fuller |
Categories:
Awake,
for the first time in eons.
I love this delicate Tango
as Mother nature
sings sotto voce,
the rain as her voice. the wind, her whisper.
Your siren serenade
no longer falling on long-
deaf ears.
My will,
pierced by moth-wing needles
and catfish dreams,
falls under its' own remorse.
Words slip from your tongue
magically magnetic
and i am found, again,
for the first time-
i realize that
down the road there is a tiny garden
with a tiny bench, and two weather-pitted
cherubs grace the sides,
apart, yet altogether knowing
they are meant to be,
and all that happy horseshit.