Thursday, January 10, 2013

When We Would Touch (old unpublished poem)

When you would touch me, touch me then,
a slave of bad weather broke free and saw the sun.
The storms cried themselves dry.

When I would touch you, touch you then,
food inspired itself to wander with heart.
Hungry lands were plagued with joy.

When we would touch, touch each other then,
a messenger of time put forever in my watch.
The universe was inside our music box.

When we would touch each other then,
the angel with eternal faces smiled upon us,
confessed that nothing begins nor ends.

And when a day came that we touched no more,
nothing had really changed at all,
for our love had been woven within time and music—
just as that antediluvian oracle had promised.

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