60 Minutes From Sunrise

in metaphor you are perfection -

careless eyes cast down a narrow nose,

the hipsters would call you cool, but

I cannot seem to call you at all     anymore

 

some days I wonder if you are a delusion,

a hybrid creation of cross pollination

inside the mossy moorlands of my psychosis

 

but I am quite sure that one day you existed,

somewhere outside of me, because

I remember fragments of top-down drives,

lost scarves along the Pacific Coast Highway,

and moonlight     entire beaches glowing

with madness the color of hand-dipped starlight

 

you wear my words well     these days,

lines like tailored sport coats and jeans,

syllables giving texture to a phantom’s voice,

     this-is-forever, you said,

until it wasn’t, but I can still draw your smile

60 minutes from sunrise, between Castor and Pollux,

and that has to be enough     for now

Reviews

[Mark]

Reminded of Norma Jean... something she lost which the rest of gained though I can read the personal level aswell. Nice write.

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Thank you so much, Mark.

[Anand Sehgal]

Knowlingly / Unknowlingly you are shifting towards circum-contentive write that contains granular images of dissimilar nature. after seeing a couple more I will give my verdict, carry on my sweet dear poet :)

[Girl Friday (Sarah W.)]

Haha This is just one of the many faces of who I am as a writer...I don't like to stay in one place for too long.