I fall into the great abyss
of my lover’s tender kiss.
He kisses eyebrow, cheek and hair,
almost too much for me to bear.
Then hovers near, as though to see
what is left of the rest of me.
I hope for more, and yet I fear
that this one that I find dear
will find my passion somehow lacking—
that this passion I find wracking,
will, indeed, not translate to
this lover that I’ve met anew
years after our first furtive touch—
the one that I have missed so much.
“It’s typical,” you say, and fold
me in—that tender act of old—
“to question love that has been cast
away from us in years long past.
But I, for one, still feel the flame
and I hope you feel the same.”
Prompts words for the day are bear, indeed, hover, typical, hope, abyss. Image by Devin Avery on Unsplash.
Great one Judy, in fact to me it is a classic… I love it when a poem tells a story and this one tells a whole book~! (or life), Thanks for making my morning~!
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Thanks, Sam. I like the same.
Whoa. Mine said (at an airport) “I guess first love never really goes away.”
Meeting or parting?
Both at once. It was the first time I’d seen him in a long time and the last time I saw him. Bittersweet.
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Oh, the angst. Been there.
Hope dies hard, they say.