misty air brushes my skin
walking through a Casablanca cloud of drizzles
my heart trudges through this English fog of loneliness
separated by sight but not sound
listening for the footsteps of my future
loving the cadence of his quick step
moving closer,
my throat closes when I try to call out
his path does not cross mine
the splash of tires
takes him
and I wish for the company of strangers
to stand with me on the bridge to forever
Sunday, February 17, 2008
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4 comments:
Pain, beauty, truthful - your poems are soul-wrenching, CR.
My bracha and wish for you is that contrary to your vision in this poem, that his path crosses yours such that the "splash of tires" takes the company of strangers with it, leaving you and "him" on the "bridge to forever".
jd,
thanks for your wishes.
That was incredible!
day,
thanks
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