Thursday, May 7, 2009


In this room
everyone is captivated
by flannel clad guitarists

and their feet glow gold
under the single overhead light

and I am red-wine nostalgic
wishing I could wink at you
across the room; that your

brown eyes, white teeth, 
black, black hair would
suddenly appear on the 
floral couch.

We could shoot knowing
glances back and forth 
everyone else milling around
with their gold feet 
totally oblivious to 

love ricocheting off
the moulding, wooden 
and crowned. 


ironic contrarian said...

in vino veritas

Ambition Bird said...

glad to see you are still reading, Raramu.