| Monday, January 08, 2007 |
| Déjà Vu |
Here we are again -
Your hand upon mine.
Years apart
Bridged by a yesterday.
We find comfort in silence
Save for the falling of our footsteps
Down a quiet road,
And a sunset.
A fleeting touch, a knowing look,
Then I wonder:
Does constant mean comfort?
Or is constant true?Labels: chance poetry |
posted by Tami @ 10:42 AM
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