Poetry

She stood tall with her lizard-like skin
unafraid of the scorching sun
yet I felt sorry for her
they way one might feel sorry for a bug
before stepping on it.

Nightfall sailed like a lanky  insurance salesman
unafraid of  the barking dogs
but I  only could pine for her
as they lunch on the dead ants.

My bed begs
Your presence
To lie again as one
Home from the wars
And blank nights
From the cold breaths
Of others
To lie again in warmth;

So it seems
That my moments spent
Wait your return
And our smiles to flower.

Under the golden bridge
We talk about things
That cannot be owned
Over and over again
I drop the rose
To tempt you
Hoping to bring me away
Hoping to no longer be walking
Alone in the moonlight
I dare not open my eyes
For fear you would be gone
And the rose
still on the ground