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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Experience · #395286
Derived from anonymous correspondence woman in California who called herself, Angel.
The day without knowing
crawled blindly over the horizon
groping the remnants of my dreams
startling uncertain crows
from pecking my heart
into bits too small
to be sewn to your sleeve

you waited
in my unconscious
while flowers grew up
in a blaze of passion
opening themselves
to the blunt soles of passersby
then were forgotten
amid the drudgery of daily life
wearing thin romantic finery
until apathy replaced contempt

night fell again
obscuring the stain
of my existence
until nothing remained
but the gleam in my eye
and my breath on your neck

heaven is only an instant
that lasts forever
not this ruin of dreams
and good intentions
postponed to get to work on time
meet deadlines
perpetuating the status quo
a passionless desert of duty
peopled by intimate strangers
begging to be touched

I pulled your words close to me
their syllables conforming
to the awkward angles of my body
like a child with a blanket
in the darkness
and cursed the night
for having a million eyes
and no mouth
© Copyright 2002 Don Anderson (ordinarymystic at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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