it was like those two fallen angels on two different sides of the earth when after centuries of famine and prosperity they found one another when they least expected it
The night Mediterranean takes the town over. It taints the streets, seeps over old and new furniture, a watery pall blunting even the barks of the stray dog. He wonders how long it had been since either had spoke in the room. So he whispers, I’m going….Ravachol deserves better. Wrapped in his arms, she refuses to stir. He adds, there are things more important than us. She leans in and kisses his throat. . First posted on July 10th, 2016, on my previous […]
impressions of you like scattering ariels through the parched grasslands ****** A partial backstory on this poem: while recently writing a comment, i wanted to say aerial, but instead i wrote ariel. For the life of me, I couldn’t remember how aerial was spelled. Long story short, i discovered that ariel is “a gazelle found in the Middle East and North Africa.”
we are committed to the duel addicted to our tournament of thorny roses as we are to each other we joust into the night except there is no one there to cheer us on to watch us always playing to a draw
I don’t know if we should be seen together…you know, talking like this. But here we are. So, what? Done is done? Something like that. Maybe we’ve just slipped out of their collective awareness. Some files within arms reach, then…buried under new information, regulated to the bottom of the stack. One can hope. One should hope that it wouldn’t take this long to order coffee.