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Shakespeare's Monkeys

Infinite Monkeys. Infinite Typewriters.

More in POETRY

The Color of Air

  • This one needs a better title...any ideas?

 

She waits,
so patient
Patient,
like the August breeze before it spills
the cotton wind at the end of summer.

Her heart swells with the eternal beat of desolation.
It sings sweetly of honey and flowers
gentle and kind
warming the promise in his eyes…


Yet her lips are dry and needful of his kiss.

U668857 - on Apr. 19 2010

"the eternal beat of desolation"...lovely langorous cadence...reminds me of Arnold's "Dover Beach" - "the eternal note of sadness"...intensely lyrical and soothing...title seems fine to me...Rgds., Alan. 


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