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Rated: 13+ · Poetry · Drama · #1198512
love is not always a dialog written and learned
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

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?

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

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

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

5 january, 2007
Second Place Winner in Lexi’s "Poetry Challenge"
© Copyright 2007 alfred booth, wanbli ska (troubadour at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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