As It Began
Rogue strands of will-o-wisp hair,
pink mouths and pearl-thread
all bending to pillow-tunes
of a pale morning's riff.
Tulle, tiaras, and cotton,
clump-crusts on soccer cleats,
thrumming in unison
to the beat of small toes.
At night, our under-eyes smudged,
with words softened like butter,
we pause to admire the child-vines-
our garden down the hall.
Will this all end as it began?
Walking, slipping briskly in the cold
Your leonine eyes raised to mine, and
A hand, upturned, enquiring love.
Share This Poem