Monday 16 January 2012

At the Pond (Linger)

Origami ships and cannonball drips
plummeting to the depths of the pond.
Palms on hips and eyes on inviting lips
floating to the surface, buoyantly fond.

Stale crumbs tear as the ducks squabble and share
feasting upon the gift of remains.
Visible air lingers around your hair
the defiant frost of winter never wanes.

Footsteps crunch and crack on the icy track,
using balance as an excuse to hold hands
but what foothold lacks the touch will bring back
lingering fingertips they both understand.

Now they cannot let each other slip
for they tread in time to the heart's soft skip.

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