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Erin Moss Poem
Opening line from "Highway Five Love Poem" by Ruth L. Schwartz
This is a love poem for all the tomatoes
I squished to make our Date-Night spaghetti.
Our love, like the pasta, was shiny. So the story goes.
We sit at our table, between us a rose
Red as the marinara I chose. (He let me).
This is a love poem for all our tomatoes.
We watch the steam, which the mouth quickly blows
Away (like the wind and those petals the day he met me).
Our love, like the pasta, was sticky. So the story goes.
We sip our red wine. Chianti, it has a good nose.
(In the morning, do you think he will regret me?)
This is a love poem. For all our tomatoes
Are gone, just as the wine hides grapes squished by toes
in authentic California vineyards. (You get me?)
Our love, like the pasta, was steamy. So the story goes.
We finish our meal with gestures the other knows.
(I wonder if he'll someday forget me.)
This isn't a love poem for all our tomatoes.
Our love, like our pasta, was al dente. So our story goes.
Copyright © Erin Moss | Year Posted 2006
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Erin Moss Poem
It is a sin to steel a sin.
Overlooking blackberry clouds
while the voices of a nameless
storm echo bright in the whirlwind,
the Temptress needles her
way into your stomach.
She dares you to resist.
She begs you to struggle.
At cliff's edge, you tumble, trading
one sin for another, and fall.
Copyright © Erin Moss | Year Posted 2006
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Erin Moss Poem
Perched high in the trees, the owl,
Lord of Mystery, looks downard for
An unsuspecting midnight snack.
Ignorant of its fate, the mouse
Nibbles on a fallen berry.
Just as mysterious,
Alluring but unknown,
No one ever sees you coming,
Even when they know you're there.
Copyright © Erin Moss | Year Posted 2006
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