Time and time and time
again,
the colors build
the shapes grow old
Tattered and worn,
tossed and scattered
The edges, worn down
have lost their
jauntiness
I look at you,
you look at me...
I see a faint outline
Who are you and
What are you defined by?
A keen sense for
verbal calisthenics and
quaint accents?
A sloping back
and a slack jaw
in the midst of
sonorous slumber?
A solid nod
and bear strong hands?
A worn-out shape
and teary eyes?
A smile that lights
up your face
...and my life respectively?
I've decided not.
Love defines you.
It's your shape
Love defines you
..and when I strip it down
to the core
There is nothing more
and nothing less
than the shape
I know so well.
Your shape is love.
2 comments:
love your poems deb:)! do you still have the notebook we used to right in? maybe it's with me...you used to right such deep and interesting stuff and i used to reply with some shallow crap:)
haha... i can't remember writing deep stuff. I remember one entry either you or i wrote about CNY and looking forward to the Hong Baos..
I don't think I have it. I haven't seen it for years. If you find it let me know! I'd be stoked to read what we wrote back then. =)
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