Held in my heart
Hold my hand
Kept warm by laughter
Tears at bay
None to wipe away
Fingers around coffee cups
Steam rising and dying
We talk so long
Tactile like lightning
Books well-thumbed
Songs well-played
Words written with intent
Fights that end in embrace
Looks that hint at
Jokes kept as secrets
Cigarettes shared closely
Scars with well-told stories
Skin like traversed maps
Lips so cozy
Eyes like home
Memories so intertwined
Scuffed coffee tables
Shoes by the door
Notes on the fridge
Presents under trees
A promise believed
A trust kindled and kept
A story for the books
A love tightly sewn
A forever that never needs dusting.
About the Creator
Gerard Edenweigh
The stories I come up with tend towards adventures. My poetry tends towards life problems. I'm not married to a genre.
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Reaching Out
I promise her. I'd do anything for her. She's my mom. Even as Lanie and Deanna are flying home, Mom is scrappy fighting dying. She lays too still in that too-big bed with all the toasty white hospital blankets, in the south tower, at the broad end of a long slow-turning corner that delivers me again to her private room with the view she can't see through, with the beeping that tells us nothing new, and all these ice chips she can't swallow, and a flood of well-intentioned nurses who cannot do a damned thing all the same.
By Christy Munson3 days ago in Fiction
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