Go on, tell him you won’t—
He may believe you,
But I certainly don’t.
Don’t bother with colors;
You’re not fall but winter.
And so dramatic—
Bare limbs,
White eyeliner.
You’ve tossed my letters,
Pretending not to care,
But can’t disown
Places I’m still there.
It’s almost October
The cold takes my breath—
Stamps your image
In darkness instead.
Night’s black ocean
And silver surf
Murmur in syllables
Daunting sense.
Forgive me, Love,
But all I’ve known is
Your mouth—
And the painted nails
That fix me to this cross.
There are strong verses and images in this poem, @johnjgeddes. We find a voice that addresses another, that perhaps by its behavior, gesture and even by the look (almost equal to that of the image) can be charged with heat but also of coldness. It is the feeling of someone who feels trapped and we can see that in the last stanzas. A person who turns to another who in turn must turn to another. A triangle perhaps? A poem that has a purpose: to be read by the other person! As you say in the poem: It's almost October. Hugs
Thanks Nancy...the most intimate poetry is not so much heard as overheard - in this case, a wintry conversation between lovers
Oh my God. What a beautiful write up. I really enjoyed reading. I actually read it more than once. Good work @johnjgeddes
thanks, @paramimd
Increíble que usando pocas palabras se pueden expresar tantos sentimientos! Una historia compleja contada entre líneas. Simplemente perfecta!!! Gracias por compartir.