vriad_lee | (no subject)

One Flesh by Elizabeth Jennings

Lying apart now, each in a separate bed,
He with a book, keeping the light on late,
She like a girl dreaming of childhood,
All men elsewhere - it is as if they wait
Some new event: the book he holds unread,
Her eyes fixed on the shadows overhead.

Tossed up like flotsam from a former passion,
How cool they lie. They hardly ever touch,
Or if they do it is like a confession
Of having little feeling - or too much.
Chastity faces them, a destination
For which their whole lives were a preparation.

Strangely apart, yet strangely close together,
Silence between them like a thread to hold
And not wind in. And time itself's a feather
Touching them gently. Do they know they're old,
These two who are my father and my mother
Whose fire from which I came, has now grown cold?

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

and more sadness.. what's up this morning? murry says you've upset him.

i don't know, i click 'random poem' button on that poetry site, and get what i get. who's murry?

murry the cat. the gray one. i have 2 of them. :)

yes i know and they don't have claws!

you see...а ты спрашиваешь!