Part two
Old Manhattan sleetand the first time meetings
in bars on 3:d Avenue
whispers back to me
on a hot July curved to silence.
There are so many eyes that testify
to the inevitable expiration
of inner beauty and love,
fuelled and ready
for the silent nova all time goodbye,
imploding in sad brilliance.
Poetry by Bob
Read 1128 times
Written on 2010-04-01 at 22:55
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