Poetry

In who's lap
did you lay your head
when last your heart was broken?
Am I to be exiled
from your sight
from your arms
for the simple crime
of loving you?
Worlds trembled
and the gods smiled
when I held
your hand in mine --
is this then to be
the final line?

 

I have trod these cobbles before,
these Alexandrian dreams

(spoken as if to a lover)

The very sound of your voice rings a magical chord