Ours

your hands and wrists ARE
some wonderfulness I will never
forget; the way they would convey
mood and grace even when you are
asleep, or flitter or swing when you are
danced. And bless you, you would
dance to anything; your taste was just
unique for where and when you lived
when I met you, and the world sprang to life,
a rainy-wet explosion of blossoms and
green in an otherwise dry, dirty, dusty
brown old sweetheart of the cowboy pub.
then I wondered where you legs were
carrying you now because you know that when
I was allowed to tell you how I feel, I was
distracted by the feel of those glorious, happy,
consumable legs. the voice that you signal
to sculpt a mood, as a chef molds a
flavor, was like frosting I couldn’t
refuse; it spoke to my insides before
the comprehension of the words struck my
inner ear.
but the fact that we will never
forget each other makes me glow to
think of it, and glad we are this interconnected…

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About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
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