Two strangers,
glide over dirt floors
full of memories
as old as the morning
sashaying past time that slips
like water through cupped palms
Just one more moment
Give me anther kiss
On the cheek of the one
Who wore a sacred name
That now hangs around
Another's neck
Saline slivers slip silently
Through the loving cracks
Between the sweet words
That once soothed a tender heart
Riddled through with holes
Porous like the moon
What is the strength
Of a love that burns true?
Only true love will know
Only time will tell them
Can the dimensions be crossed
50 times a lifetime?
Aug 9, 2025
Aug 9, 2025 at 2:37 AM UTC
Two strangers,
glide over dirt floors
full of memories
as old as the morning
sashaying past time that slips
like water through cupped palms
Just one more moment
Give me anther kiss
On the cheek of the one
Who wore a sacred name
That now hangs around
Another's neck
Saline slivers slip silently
Through the loving cracks
Between the sweet words
That once soothed a tender heart
Riddled through with holes
Porous like the moon
What is the strength
Of a love that burns true?
Only true love will know
Only time will tell them
Can the dimensions be crossed
50 times a lifetime?
In the soft space between what is held and what is lost,
love seeps like saltwater through the smallest openings,
leaving its trace in moonlight and memory.
Here, even the holes are sacred —
portals through which devotion travels,
unchanged by distance, unbroken by time.
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