I don't regret not writing love poems

and sometimes the winter is the
hollow in my voice
or the sound of a cat's, perhaps,
footsteps in the hall
if the hall can imagine itself
as a silence with great
green eyes, landscape eyes,
eyes that are both sun and moon

i can wait until two.

and sometimes the winter divides a body,
leaving 26 unintentional myths
and the echo of crows in the blue distance.

 

brilliant. Your a good writer.

 

*bows slightly*

 

that was fantastic... excellent movement from line to line, with wonderful shifting of images, and good use of repetition. I thoroughly enjoyed this, and:

what a perfect ending! very nicely done!

 

great rhythm and your cat images haunt me now.....

 

hell yeah, i use to hate cats until a week ago....

 

lol...and why the change of heart!!?

 

well, you know, they're poets... baudelaire loved cats

 

hear hear

 

~* wonderful! I really can't say anything that hasn't been said already, I did like the way you ended it*~

 

i was wondering about the number 26.. i cant make up my own reason for your choosing it.. feel like explaining?