Bench after bench
entangled in Rodin’s kiss.
Lovers bending close
murmuring words for the world to miss.
I walk in this twilight of summer dreams
and step in, out, in, out,
not knowing what side I long to be.
Rays of sun seem to magnify
innocent summer love.
Appearing everywhere I turn my head...
To see that those tender lips, are not mine to kiss.
That sweet embrace, someone else’s bliss.
Standing in the shadow of their sun
I put on my RayBan’s
and the magic is gone.
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Comments about this poem (Summer Kisses by Bojoura Stolz )
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Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
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(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
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