New Leaves
It was the kind of sky
that would have given us a rainbow
if night had not fallen
and extinguished every expectation.
The dusk, rather than descending
seemed to pour out of the east
as if I were pouring a deep bitter
chocolate, (negre) into a
porcelain cup for you
coating everything so
that I would have to kiss it
off your lips, push it
aside with the hard edge of my palm.
See the bright tip of your
tongue.
PBSweeney 2006
1 response so far ↓
Irving karchmar // May 7, 2006 at 6:16 pm |
What a beautiful poem. It is clear that love guides your heart and your pen.