people answering

Places Pushed
Back into the memory
Of an afterlife that we have
All the time in the world
Burning deep within our past
Like a fire, built out of every
Pinecone in the entire forest
Young branches mixed in the discussions
Of every touching moment that close ones
Have been around to have
But on top of a pair of eyes squinting in the cold
Is a whole mess of mop head that
The wind had the first hello to this morning
And does it appear amazing that I am
Completely recalling the night long ago
When we shared a blanket and
Watched the conversation move the time along
Wishing for the clock to stop
So we could stare at each other
And talk without worrying about the dawn
If you could put your hand on
Mine and remember the tides of
March that bring us together
Once more

About jaybeasley2

a writer, a painter, a poet, a wordsmith
This entry was posted in poem, poems, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

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