Now

by Greg Watson

I told you once when we were young that
we would someday meet again.
Now, the years flown past, the letters
unwritten, I am not so certain.

It is autumn. There are toothaches hidden
in this wind, there are those determined
to bring forth winter at any cost.
I am resigned to dark blonde shadows

at stoplights, lost in the roadmaps of leaves
which point in every direction at once.
But I am wearing the shirt you stitched
two separate lifetimes ago. It is old

and falling to ash, yet every button blooms
the flowers of your design. I think of this
and I am happy, to have kissed
your mouth with the force of language,

to have spoken your name at all.

Comments

[V-Grrrl]

This poem begged to be posted again. : )

[Jack]

I liked it.

[V-Grrrl]

Jack,

I'm not surprised. : )

[Chris]

Wonderful poem. Makes me a bit sad though.

[littlepurplecow]

Oh so sweet. That longing... (sigh)