The smooth expanse of supple black leather that is my desk,
like a stretched and scraped skin left to dry and shine,
the biggest man you ever saw.
And the to-and-fros of bobbing heads from my window.
Tree branches like fingers
groping for that yellowing golden noose
These are all I have left,
these and my old worn cassette player.
We had good times.
Perhaps I should eat a slice of butterless toast
and go dance new-born in the rain.
This is the day I forget about you.
What title do you think?
Very nice. For a title, I like “This is the day.”
i like “yellow golden noose of lamplight.”
very nice, friend. 🙂
This is very lovely. I prefer this is the day, like lola.
I like the toast line!
Inanimate friends when real ones are not around. Sounds nice.
Thanks slynne. I like it too so that is what it SHALL be called.
And thank you to you too Tom, for the comment.
I’m glad it’s being read.
Nothing like a breeze of poetic jewelry of yours to rejuvenate the soul, the flickering fountain of youth where you don’t have to get far. Peace, brother.
I am honestly blushing.
Gorgeous. Hits close right about yesterday. Or is it today? Do I have to decide?
No deciding necessary.
That’s the beauty of it. It could be everyday.
My gracious. I love it. I’m speechless. Between you, “theair” and a few others I could spend the whole day looking at poetry blogs sitting speechless and many times breathless. You guys are good.
I very much appreciate.