The room brimmed
with her pale heat
lapping through my winter.
Dare I touch this dance
and stuff my pockets full of hope?
Parcel my fears
in wax paper and twine
and wait for them to unravel.
Pic - Cormorant Drying Wings. by Geoffrey Bickley. Sculpture: wood
Glad you enjoyed this Jan. will look at your posts now :-)
jan oskar hansen
Sun 9th Feb 2014 13:09
lovely poem, very gentle words
An intriguing piece. Nice one Winston.
Thx Ian, read this at the shindig last night. seemed to go down well, thx for your comments
beautiful and evocative Winston - absolutely love the opening stanza - and every word really does count - less is definitely more with this one - stunning stuff
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jean lucy thompson
Wed 19th Nov 2014 00:40
so much meaning and insight with your poems Winston love them :)