Decades ago, the waste of infatuation
hidden in my wallet pocket
a crumbled rose, a piece of stale
chocolate waiting to be eaten
something, anything you touched.
Then I see you
years later in a storefront.
The movie is fast forward, the
sound paused to mute.
After a moment, there are words
between us, your eyes focus
on my lips talking.
My eyes focus on your gray hair
and wrinkled forehead.
Infatuation
What kind of word is that?
Why does the meaning
become a blur of words
and all the youth of my life
come sliding down a mountain,
pooling at the bottom of your feet.
All I can say Louise, is that when love hit you and sticks, it develops and even a wart on their nose wouldn't stop you loving them. Infatuations are meant to be gotten over, or how would we survive? 9 from one who knows these things! Grinning Tai
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
been a while since I visited the site, glad I did, as Peter says, the last three lines.wow