by sjenabruxelles, Brussels (Bruxelles), Belgium
Jun 2015 775 Views 4 comments
the park bench
the dust of time
on a park bench
in brussels...
that sunday
the rain,moistened
the eyes of love...
your skin,smelling
the now and summer
a year ago...
my fingers were drawing
your evasive landscapes
on a park bench
in brussels...
pale and frail traveller
thoughtful white lady
sitting on the bench
of my nights...
memory,touching
the cold of the mirror
a year ago...
the dust of time
on a park bench
in brussels...
on a park bench
in brussels...
that sunday
the rain,moistened
the eyes of love...
your skin,smelling
the now and summer
a year ago...
my fingers were drawing
your evasive landscapes
on a park bench
in brussels...
pale and frail traveller
thoughtful white lady
sitting on the bench
of my nights...
memory,touching
the cold of the mirror
a year ago...
the dust of time
on a park bench
in brussels...
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Posted: Jun 2015
About this poem:
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Comments (4)
nice job sjena
thank you beauty !
Sounds and feels like death
Dark poem
But I like that sentence
The cold of the mirror
It stands out