Thursday, April 3, 2014

Something About You


Keeps me waking
from oblong nights to morn.

It's not those worshiped pleasantries
traversed between yours and mine,
or the halls of untouched volumes
that occupy your mind.

It's not the gowns
that you have worn,
or the countenances that have adorned
the mantel of your eyes.

It's something deep within those eyes
that lie upon your cheeks,
a false memory, perhaps
of what was there that lied,

a place not unfamiliar
to angels, when they sigh,
a home I know, but scarcely go,
and where would gladly die.

And if, perchance, I should fill
your heaven-sent eyes with mine,
I scarcely know if I should go
beyond those eyes again.


by John Montana

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