sometime
when you are a memory,
a pulsing beat,
alive
as a sweet trickle...
and I
gather myself
to the contours
of your dreams
strumming soft
a tender tattoo
with the fist
of my heart ;
when, through half- collapsed
tunnel of the past
shines the place
where love had laughed
for the last time.
Then, I,
cupping scalding hands
around dying embers
of the night
push another raft of hope
into that oceans of minutes--
my life--
and bobbing,unsteady,
know that
sometime for us to live
all we need
is broken hearts.
a pulsing beat,
alive
as a sweet trickle...
and I
gather myself
to the contours
of your dreams
strumming soft
a tender tattoo
with the fist
of my heart ;
when, through half- collapsed
tunnel of the past
shines the place
where love had laughed
for the last time.
Then, I,
cupping scalding hands
around dying embers
of the night
push another raft of hope
into that oceans of minutes--
my life--
and bobbing,unsteady,
know that
sometime for us to live
all we need
is broken hearts.