Fleshtones
In a dream you come to me
without hesitation, fulfilling
technicolor fantasies, in tall
grasses 'til mid night.
Most memories are washed
away by evn'tide, burdening me
only with sweet want and desire.
But for the dawn, I would stay.
Your scent is surreal on my
pillow. I retrace my steps ev'ry
night to that place, vague paths
glowing with deja vu.
Stolen snapshots, frozen, blurry
hang askew in the hall. A tribute
to no regrets. 'Twas not a dream.
I'm sure I was there, and not alone.
Poetry is when an emotion has found its thought and the thought has found words.
Robert Frost (1875-1963) American Poet.
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
|---|---|---|
| Title | Comments | Submitted |
| Love Eternal | 1 | 05/25/2010 |
| The Augmentation of My Breasts | 2 | 05/25/2010 |
| Without | 1 | 05/25/2010 |
| EXIT WOUND | 1 | 05/25/2010 |
| Driftwood | 0 | 05/24/2010 |
| Death of a Tart | 1 | 05/24/2010 |
| Mere Mortals | 2 | 05/24/2010 |
| Chocolate Love | 2 | 05/24/2010 |
| Rememberin' | 1 | 05/24/2010 |
| Fleshtones | 0 | 12/28/2009 |
| Forty-Somethi ng |
0 | 11/16/2009 |
| I Am | 0 | 11/09/2009 |
| WORDS | 0 | 11/09/2009 |
| Left-Handed Need Not Apply | 0 | 10/13/2009 |
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