Four

Posted on January 6, 2007

3


It was all for his
taking.

And he took it,
with time.

A universe,
treasured in units
called moments.

Till one day, he
forgot to forget
himself
in fleeting somethings.

Forgot to flutter.
Forgot to feel.

Today, he told me,
the
biting cold,
a moon blushing shades of gray,
a mouthful of fragrance of a flowers busy dying,
a silent beam of moonshine locking her finger under his chin,

made him spend the night
crying.

Posted in: Poetry