Every one in your spaces will die
and you will never know if you will
be the last to touch them.
Most will get our ragged stubs,
a few, palm to palm caress, fewer still,
your fingertips brushing their lifelines.
They’re all going to die.
That last touch is all they
can take with them before
the crack in heaven splits
and they see themselves
as they truly are:
drenched in honey,
stung and swollen,
pinned in time.
Your poems are superb.
Thanks. I try hard to make them as good as they can be.
Thanks for sharing this poem. Anita
Well they’re really good 👍
Do you have a favorite one?
I loved the one about body shape a lot… there are a couple of others too… I think I commented on them as well
You have and I appreciate that.
I’ve published two books of my poetry.
I occasionally publish in the magazines I submit to.
Never really made a living at it. But writing poetry (and movie reviews) are a big part of what I am.
I couldn’t give up poetry or movies if I tried.
I’m retired now and I have plenty of time to do both.
That’s awesome. I might submit again soon. I have a book in process I started earlier this year. I might publish that one. Same for me with poetry and movies!
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