Our Latent Love
The saxophone’s too loud
And even Jazz Noir
Can grate on nerves
When it gets late.
It’s cold out and I can hear
The rush of heat in the grate;
I’m haunted as the starlit yard
Crisscrossed with animal trails
And tracks I made.
Did I say it’s late?
Not that I expected you to wait,
But I did, and you being you, didn’t
And that’s the story of us
And our latent love…
Not unlike the spring
Hidden under the weight of snow
But blossoming even now
Like Aaron’s rod,
Ever white, ever beautiful, ever new…
Ever you.
I'm looking forward to seeing the rod... Nice metaphor.
😄😇😄
ha ha, it always stuck me as resembling snowy petals - thanks, creatr :)
Love love love, John. You are the real deal poet. Great phrasing and storytelling.
thanks, Pryde - I value your opinion
:)
Very nice poem. Art is beautiful and poetry is art.
Thank you! a poetic comment :)
"Not unlike the spring.gif)
Hidden under the weight of snow"[ i love it..!]
thank you
John your poetry leads us to a lost love with the desire for a future reunion of passion. I have also found the snowy environment that you included in the postcard very pleasant. Best regards
thanks, Felix
I love, love, LOVE this bit.
This image is beautiful beyond words.
Thank you for sharing all these wonderful pieces, John.
thanks, @flashfiction
That poetry is very beautiful, very expressive. I loved it. I follow you and I leave you my vote. Greetings.
thank you
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Wonderful poem with beautiful picture.....