Late afternoon in Epping Forest
A log, solid and ancient lies still in the wood,
My memories of love lay in a drawer, undisturbed.
Was it love? Turning again to this spot in time
Dark hair, dark eyes in the gathering dusk.
We sat on the log, not touching, speaking,
The words between us floating in the air,
Our breath mingling, evaporating and waiting,
Words never spoken, out of reach, like leaves.
My mind's eye wanders now and again
To the wood. Courage failed us both, not
Wanting truly to know. An accidental kiss
Then going home, separately, each to our others.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment