Affair

 

Hallo.

I said good morning in the rain

to you last week. You smiled again

as though the thing was still there. But

the wind wept at my shoulder, smut

from smog and memory clouded round

and our slow truth, our jailed joy, frowned

through the iron rods of rain. It’s

strange to see you now, with his bits

of gold and stone, like a lost shrine

with no priest: but when you were mine,

you watched me worship; which is why

last week, I prayed good morning, dry

inside the shelter of your smile.

 

Hallo again. Please stay here for a while …

 

brolly

 

 

Copyright: Richard Fox 1970
All rights reserved

Advertisements

Leave a comment

Filed under My poems, Poetry

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s