nothing so crude
as these words on the page
nothing so uncrafted
as the clarity of me in her eye
nothing more natural than
her comforts she fashions at the end of my day
she is still golden at the height of
the arch of her young song
still able write her path
but she remains here
for our summer day
my mind
lying like a black and white photograph
lost to the ages within her words of the day
nothing more beautiful
than the truth of her embrace
thin fabric of her dress
expresses the warmth of her skin
without losing the demure of her innocence
I wait here in the shade as
she plays in the sunlight
a song only her heart can know plays
idle my fingers spin romance
carefully wrought in silver and jade
cold metal reflecting brightly
smooth stone hard to warm
but as it lay in the sun
it becomes
nothing so uncrafted
as the clarity of me in her eye
nothing so bold as her rushing to my arms
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
Aug 7, 2017
Aug 7, 2017 at 6:24 PM UTC
nothing so crude
as these words on the page
nothing so uncrafted
as the clarity of me in her eye
nothing more natural than
her comforts she fashions at the end of my day
she is still golden at the height of
the arch of her young song
still able write her path
but she remains here
for our summer day
my mind
lying like a black and white photograph
lost to the ages within her words of the day
nothing more beautiful
than the truth of her embrace
thin fabric of her dress
expresses the warmth of her skin
without losing the demure of her innocence
I wait here in the shade as
she plays in the sunlight
a song only her heart can know plays
idle my fingers spin romance
carefully wrought in silver and jade
cold metal reflecting brightly
smooth stone hard to warm
but as it lay in the sun
it becomes
nothing so uncrafted
as the clarity of me in her eye
nothing so bold as her rushing to my arms
© 2017 mark john junor all rights reserved
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