The Promise
By mtpoet
The Promise The word stops by one day, bringing rhyme, a woman equally as beautiful as she is. She stops for she knows I write poetry still these many years past that first draft of a poem we made, the one with the hesitant touching of strangers on a dark page-- the touch that always leads to more. Each time she stops by, she brings them to me, the wild, the wet & beautiful ones. Perhaps to torment me she brings them or to tempt me-- I can not be certain. On this day, she says there is more to rhyme naked even should it be slant than meets the eye & I say I am sure of it for I have heard the power of rhyme with my own ears. & she has me promise that when next she comes to visit that rhyme can come too & together we three shall explore all the possibilities of beginning & of ending & of placing internal all that rhyme is capable of besides helping poets end a line so they can hurry off to the next. Both of us knowing well, that we may never get around to it, make that promise, our dalience ended. Written March 4th, 2002 © on Mar 04 2002 02:55 AM PST, Rudy Thomas 0 • 10
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"The Promise..."