I cling to his jacket
and remember the old WWII photograph
of the woman examining the lapels and buttons
of her man.
I see the rain drizzle over his gelled hair
and how his eyes tell me of escape.
I just can't let go.
I can't regain--
My pride is gone.
I want to hold him
and feel his warm lips
along my neck.
Take away the rain drops
falling on my cheeks
and drink
the collarbone bay.
But he picks me up against him
(like he used to do when he
he pulled me to him
with longing in his voice)
and puts me in the
driverseat of my car.
He tells me I must go
(my pride is gone)
and I can fight no longer.
He doesn't want me and I
can't seduce him
or beg.
And yet it still feels so natural to
lean in for a quick goodbye kiss.
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2 comments:
nice line breaks and i like the repetition of "my pride is gone"!
this is a very sad poem though, i hope you're not heartbroken like this poem sounds =(
I was but no more :)
I haven't written any poetry since though. I think I am going to concentrate on my prose and leave the poetry to you, renee!
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