Thursday, September 16, 2010

Salt

She made breakfast and wondered, quiet at the table
Who swept away the salt spilt yesterday?
And did they remember
To toss a little
Over their left shoulder?

Losing You(th)

Youth had left her like a lover before dawn
Nary a rustle or the chink of a buckle
Loose
She is left with its scent
And its silence
And oh!
The memory