Waves of the South Atlantic Great, tango, and sweat.
The memory of my first sweetheart... The color of her caramel eyes,
her hair flowing in the breeze
with the song I hear her sing,
on her wild and hungry lips.
Quantum-leap to a moment of magic and relive all again,
like in a lucid dream.
I long to see you again
and look up to your skies
searching for memories,
and with moisture in my eyes, recalling them.
My soul never left you,
and my spirit keeps going back.
You are all of me, piece by piece, cell by cell, tear by tear.
In the mental space where memories reside,
you are permeated above the rest,
without the need for photographs,
without the need for someone else.
And you were always there,
with all the beauty you were gifted with
and the grandeur I left behind.
Is there a simpler way to say I love you a thousand times?
~o~
About the Creator
Rene Volpi
I'm from Italy and write every day. Being a storyteller by nature, I've entertained (and annoyed) people with my "expositions" since I was a child, showing everyone my primitive drawings, doodles, and poems. Still do! Leave me a comment :)
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More stories from Rene Volpi and writers in Poets and other communities.
Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis5 days ago in Humans
Comments (1)
Awww, this was just so sweet and lovely! Wonderful poem!