An Intimate Poem
They asked me for a poem.
“A poem...A poem,” they said,
Not noticing my mind had wondered
Across the street to the cantina
Where first I glimpsed your tanned face
And the thick, dark hair
I knew my fingers were created to entangle.
I had no poem to give them;
My thoughts had flown far away
To a sidewalk cafe
We used to frequent, long ago.
The only poem I have left
Is the one that constantly traverses
the twists and turns of memory.
The poem that lingers on your face
And still senses your fingers caressing
Places only you have known.
How can I give away such intimate poetry
Meant to be recited only to you?
Rhymes of blue fire in pale eyes
The verses penned on disheveled sheets
Moon glances, secret lexis of love
Only spoken between us.
“Give us a poem, a poem or two”
They ask again as though they think
I am hard of hearing,
But the only poetry left in my soul
is meant only for you.
Share
Print
Save
Follow
Ron