The time that divides us is the speed of sound
but always, always --
our world keeps turning round, and round
In dreams -- perhaps, we may meet
and, yours a familiar face of warm memory's -- the one,
I fondly greet
You --
a poet or, painter -- on a Paris street
And Me --
mysterious eyes
the kind that secrets always keep
a wistful smile of feminine wile
cultured, and fair
with fine clothes, and red hair
Time will slow down
and, there will be no divide
with fluttering memory's
that rush inside
I know when I find you
and, you find me
this time, this time --
this time again
our parallel universe's will collide
and, they will transcend
circling forward, and backward
again, and again --
like two cradling swans
loving again.
This poem is copyrighted and stored in author base. All material subject to Copyright Infringement laws
Section 512(c)(3) of the U.S. Copyright
Act, 17 U.S.C. S512(c)(3), Krisselle S. Cosgrove March 8th, 2015
