Updated: Jun 12
A poem by P. G.
Memories float on, saccharine, like warm eighth notes,
They tease my fingers
as I reach, reach, reach stretching and straining to you, the great beyond, chaos.
You loved red velvet in lace, love, or on a cake lined with fiery stars
that keep you yearning
oh, that great danger, that old sin to hope or to love
how foolish are we! how stupid were we once?
how we covet youth now
while the world laughs and shakes and twirls and pulsates
on the street corner
reading: Weathervane [right over there, yes, that one], that was my home once.