Miles and miles
Lay between us
And days
Sometimes go by
Without a word
From you,
But I am learning
To be patient
And to trust
That all is well
And you will soon be
Coming back to me.
I count the days
Until we meet at last
In that secluded inn
Just off the square
In Jackson Hole.
Will we smile
With real warmth
And banked fire
As our fingers
At long last touch?
Or will our smiles
Grow apologetic
As the realization dawns
That we were never meant
To be
More than friends?
If you never dare to roll the dices you will never know if you get a seven or an eleven, and sometimes "love" can ruined frienship faster than a short legged lie.
Using Calgary as a backdrop the author satirizes the self-serving nature of the public as it continues to fatten itself, not only physically, but egotistically as well.
“The woman or man who is a poet, or fiction writer, or playwright, or all of these, is engaged constantly in a jazz ballet of vocabularies, passions, genders, histories, perspectives, death, love, and life. The music of revelation announces itself to
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Be always safe,
Karen
How sad when love is not to be. However, love can stray, hearts can break; but a true friend...that is forever.
Mary
(((HUGS))) and love, Karla.
Georg
Edwin