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love is not always a dialog written and learned |
unrehearsed I step onto the stage lit by moonlight where your love is flooded by memories of sepia scrapbooks I forget my text, simple I love you’s which stick like a white rose’s single thorn in a velvet voice which should be sweet unrehearsed you respond not your kisses are no longer tender but absent and departed like those of my dear grandmother now angelic, lacking passion where have we lost it? unrehearsed we mingle with each other trying to discern what we have forgotten before a new textbook on growing old is printed in Braille for our numb fingers touch less and less our feeble hearts our tepid bodies unrehearsed we stagger, we stammer in a sort of terminal bliss where beauty sleeps silenced by our strange souvenirs grown rusty by our teardrops and too many toasts to our future unrehearsed we whisper our last wishes hoping to find each other before the lights grow dim and the final applause thunders acclaiming the improvisation of our love which left to its devices has betrayed the moments we simply couldn’t save in those sepia scrapbooks unrehearsed 5 january, 2007 [2007.5.1…b] Second Place Winner in Lexi’s "Poetry Challenge" |