the coulor white
I belive it was the whiteness
as we wandered the Guggenheim
Chagal your favourite
and Kandinsky playing
painting the perfect day
my hand in yours
just for that second
warm and wanting
my secrets
it definitely was the white
the sensual of nothing
a canvas in coming
as I kissed you
knowing we are parting
and New York
young in its longing
white as the painting
undone and hoping
as I leave for the underground
heading for the Connecticut line
Poetry by kath
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Written on 2007-03-18 at 18:29
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