Memories
Memories.
His,
thunder through her mind
just like his footsteps
when she was asleep.Hers,
splash onto his eyes,
making them water.
Memories.
His,
thunder through her mind
just like his footsteps
when she was asleep.Hers,
splash onto his eyes,
making them water.
Who is the Mona Lisa talking to?
If love were a poem, I’d be an ode to your being.
If love were a song, I’d be a serenade to you.
If love were a painting, I’d be a blind artist.
In narrow escape routesInside games of shameYou hidBreathing unabashedAnd that’s where I found youDefiant refugees together,We loved. *Read my other Love Poetry. Or listen to it.
I see the footprints of hundreds of busy feet that walked before me.I see history being created….little histories, not major sagas.
Here’s my scathing tribute to motherhood.
The people at HeroPress asked me to chronicle my journey into Wordpress. It turned into a personal saga.