Hand to Mouth by Liz
Monthly statements remain unsettled; Electricity ceased, icebox warm and bare.
Their love's only token cries of hunger, a break in silence, stealing any whisper of reprieve.
On this night of ghostly reminders, a coffee cup sits by the sink, with sips he said he hadn't time to finish...
She clings a worn wool sweater, insufflating faint scents of Old Spice which linger
like the sensation of his last kiss; warm lips against her cheek, a breath's tickle near her ear.
Her darkness, disrupted by moonlight seeping between the window blinds, silhouettes her sober face, shadowing what his dying left behind.
She should have kissed his silken lips, lured him into their sacred nest and savored time...
defying death's design.
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To me this poem holds a wonderful message. Snow ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This post has been edited by AMETHYST: Dec 28 06, 10:32
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