crystal
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We sat at a corner table at the Sightglass Coffee House on Divisadero Street in San Francisco. Circumstances were sending me East and Crystal was heading West. Our interlocked fingers told the story...
crystal
she held me captive with her fingers
nails rhythmically tapping on sand-colored stone
like a general marching to war
ready to go but wanting to stay
with my eyes i could taste her sumptuous lips
swallowing words was easy
snacking on syllables and punctuation
spilling juices onto her thirsty tongue before a kiss
i nearly drowned in her tears
weighted words pulled like an anchor
as she recounted her story
with talking hands and dejected eyes
i discovered the birth of tears
when the heart hurts and the mind knows
eyes can no longer endure the pain
and they cleanse the soul with wishes
i could have loved her
during days that allowed a gentle breeze
a quicker step, guilt-free innocence
and a season to nurture the blossoms of love
now we sit, fingers interlocked
the marching general no longer trudging to war
syllables and punctuation consumed
until tears mingle, wondering if love has escaped
why does life unleash prisoners of the heart,
forever trapped in yesterday
in places where seeds are planted
and in the parched heat of the noontime sun
they die?
© tolbert
Copyright © wayne tolbert | Year Posted 2025
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