deepundergroundpoetry.com

Seasoned

Your heart was done, mine a quiver  
where there we ran, in Autumn leaf,  
and you were blind, I a dither,
I caught your eye, you caught my sleeve.
 
Upon a tree, my head softly rested,  
your hands in hair despite the breeze,  
those cold fingers, tender tested -  
how close was close, not just to tease.  
 
How long we've wandered what it meant  
to bend the spirit out for light,  
to go on yearning when you're spent,  
sink unsatisfied, into that good night  
 
between our skulls we hum for spring,  
a virginal bud, one innocent thing.  
 
ImperfectedStone
Written by ImperfectedStone (The Gardener)
Published
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
likes 1 reading list entries 0
comments 0 reads 40
Commenting Preference: 
The author encourages honest critique.

Latest Forum Discussions
COMPETITIONS
Today 3:43pm by wallyroo92
COMPETITIONS
Today 3:36pm by slipalong
COMPETITIONS
Today 2:09pm by robert43041
SPEAKEASY
Today 00:04am by Phantom2426
POETRY
30th November 2021 10:26pm by Grace
COMPETITIONS
30th November 2021 8:45pm by Northern_Soul