Poppy

I save the red nostalgic kiss.

After the longest moment of silence,

press the petals to my lips.

I have kept the faith, knowing I would love

and be loved, intimately

remember how November lies,

cenotaph on the other side of the Atlantic.

I am like a ghost who signals,

hears the same blood-beat in my ear;

chance shrapnel delivers

the opiate churning up of earth.

This late-flowering lust.

tk/November 2014


Excellent read by R.A.D. Stainforth...love the rare smile...

Join Magpie Tales creative writing group.