My Poetry

Madly in Like

The last, dying embers of sunset
paint a fury of bleeding colors on
the clouds and slowly darkening twilight sky.
The gentle arc of her neck,
resting comfortably in the small of his elbow.
Stretched on the grass,
as it collects the dew that inevitably follows
an Indian summer evening.
Passively greeting the stars together as they arrive,
unannounced,
and unnoticed,
until they play about the night sky
in a twinkling starlight dance.
Noticing the gentle swell of her breast
under the loose knit sweater she wears.
His brief reflection that he may have seen
this in a movie somewhere,
shortly before the fade to black,
and allows a brief smile
to play over his lips at the thought.
Studying
every curve,
every shadow,
of her face, and enjoying it,
while also knowing how very romantic it would seem
to her, if she caught him at it.
a soft jazz melody drips, unobtrusively
from a small radio, and she turns from the horizon
to meet him,
in a kiss,
and he wonders if it gets better than this,
not trying to imagine how,
and loses his thought in her embrace.
T. Coe

there's more of my stuff coming real soon.

one can only take so much poetry before they want to go HOME.