The night is not long enough
to hold all that is meant to
be.
I hold on for as long as I
can before sand creeps
in
to the corner of the blue eyes
that hold you in high esteem
still.
The wine on my tongue stains,
clouding any natural thought
left
of how we could get on and
still find ourselves in this
world,
the getting on being the bit
the hardest to realize, truly
so.
On the telly a movie plays
that we saw ages ago
when
we loved each other in spite
of what anyone else might have
known.
Love. It knew us by our first names
and held us tight in a firm
embrace,
safe from looters or rascals
trying to steal our best intentions.
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