Myopic
Yellow pollen drifts converge,
adorn nude logs in gros point lace;
red veined, orange campfire strings glaze
blue-gray above my lover's face.
I succumb to reflected eyes,
greening hazel like wise old frogs,
feel black water breast swiftly swell
against a quickening white fog.
Swamped, rose-gold tinged moments,
rocking red boat danger portends;
I glimpse distorted, fear-gray image . . .
his eyes foolish and young again.
Copyright, July 29, 2014
Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment