Frayed Pockets
Frayed Pockets
A mere bag
Of shells, she said
Shiny colored stones
Sifted from
Ancient sands and
Sentient oceans
Were placed gently
In my waiting hands
They spoke of
Harsh losses
The rainbow hues
Of human lineage
The music of whales
Poems yet unwritten
Seedling thoughts
Floating in the void
Tasty moments to come
And meeting a lover
Perfectly matched
My trembling hand
Reached into old
Frayed pockets
To find a brace
Of kisses
Blown from the
Lips of parting lovers
And I offered
Them to her…
Copyright © Art Fasbender | Year Posted 2019
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