Dec 6, 2012
The Winged Memoir
I do recall our momentos.
The delicate antique of hearts
which we shared on winter's morn.
There in a vintage I travel.
to junction the railroads of passersby.
For we glanced among lavish looks alike;
a glare of porcelain puppets.
Our innuendo of monologues are
placed beside the oak wood dresser.
When I tinker to find us, I come here.
And walk the narrow hallway of
my photographic memory.
We casually greet , you and I.
Once more! Once more, the scent
of you is spritzed within a whirlwind
of thoughts. I sob and then a joyful
mood succumbs my mental artistry.
Don't you keepsake me for the
winter's morn when all is laid to rest?
The sound of the clock is ticking.
Our laughter permeates the cold air.
We observe the twirling snow angels while
holding one another under the loyal moon.
And by the crackling fireplace, we listen to
our favorite song.
I understood our plight from the beginning.
But, I regret not the sapor acquired.
Like apple cider vinegar swallowed alone.
In a lisp, I ask this of you. Will you recall the
joining utters of my name? The cross roads that
lead me to you. And the season which formed
tender adoration. Still, I shall remember,
therefore we shall never fade. We do have
our past: our prose, our wend into flight.
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