Monday, April 02, 2007

The sounds of rushing cars are rare

The sounds of rushing cars are rare
here as the moonlight shines on me.

Desire's patient knocking at the rickety door
of my heart keeps me awake.

When you asked tonight at our table, in the restaurant,
if I wanted anything else, I lied

and focused instead on the rain outside.

The umbrella created a private sky
under which we walked until

the night became silent, and the train
pulled us apart.

2 comments:

Ergo said...

OMG, I LOVE the ending of the poem!! I LOVE IT! Gawd, you must seriously be in LUURVE this time! :) Very good for you. So many poems here... they're just bursting out of you, aren't they!

Innommable said...

I AM in love, or Lurve... lol.

I really think I've found an IDEAL man.
*sigh*