When Flowers Were I n Bloom

When Flowers Were I n Bloom

Saturday

Driftwood


















An ocean of emotion. How cliché.
If that’s the case, then all I have is driftwood.
“I love your eyes, your smile, your lips.
The way you say my name.”

“Let me hold your hand.”
A kiss. A hug. I disrobe you.
Lick lines of dissent on your body.
“Let me love you?”

There is no shoreline.
Twenty-five years of flotsam
keep me from drowning.
I hang on in desperation.


“I love you,” she says.
I take a deep breath.
In this infinite sea, it exists for me.
It must suffice --

driftwood.




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