Vintage

Rating: 4.9

The day ran
Like a bottle of
Fine, rare, red wine
Poured into my hands.

Gone before I’d
Even had a chance
To drink it.

No matter how tightly
I squeezed my fingers together,
All that remained was
The fragrance and slightest taste,
Mixed with
The scent and flavor
Of my own skin.

READ THIS POEM IN OTHER LANGUAGES
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Stephanie Anderson 18 March 2005

I am very much so enjoying your poetry...it is very refreshing...I shall keep my eye on you...lol ~stephanie n. anderson

0 0 Reply