This photo clouds the memory. Only the drunken red faces speak, grinning, Up on tiptoes, arms hang over shoulders, A little strip of bare flesh shows below a favourite top, But what of the seeds of two loves? Sown From yesterdayÕs pizza and todayÕs begged advice, Fists and cut lips, alone together in a dark room, Parallel dramaÕs and doomed relationships. Months move on, love grows, stretches Over the miles of the railtrack train tracks And the lines telephone poles, strung with their Telephone wires. Time sticks in souvenirs, All books for a pound, brick-a-brack Postcards, a sore ankle, sore wrist. I hear your love grow and stretch. Your disembodied voice casts An impression of this connection; His sweet and secret sigh conveys a Little shudder of understanding. But distance breaks up the bond, Eventually. Breaks two into one Voiceless face, and one faceless voice, Knowing the one and pondering the other. You both moved on. Memory moves, moves around stories, Moves from the past and into the future, Moves minds and bodies, moves houses. And you move from South to North, And return, bringing summer sunshine In short, sharp bursts. ___________________I discard the photo
My goddamn God, that was so good. Please, please, if you have any more I'd love to read them. Excellent.
Thanks! You've got me blushing... bright red like in the photo! There's another of my poems further down, under "Home."
