“To love oneself is the beginning of a lifelong romance.”
—Oscar Wilde, An Ideal Husband
Alone
A love affair dies without
time alone together to blossom
and not just time but
time wisely chosen well spent
when every light is still out except
soft waxing glow of first twilight
when a knife scraping butter across toast
or a pencil’s deliberate scratch
echo across this house and no one hears
when I can run away from home
fly to the distant side of sawtoothed mountains
swim among corals at the bottom of some strange sea
bury myself among stalactites and stalagmites
wander thirsty deserts in search of myself
and still be back before breakfast.
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2 comments:
I wasn't expecting the ending :D
"...when a knife scraping butter across toast
or a pencil’s deliberate scratch
echo across this house and no one hears" That really speaks to me.
LOVE!
Can I just say, "Wow". You're poems are beautiful Katie, they take me away.
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