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Click herethe rain
was cold
as we ran through the storm
laughing
your lips
were warm
as they pressed against mine
passionately
the house
was dark
as we sneaked up to your room
quietly
my clothes
were wet
as they fell into a heap
on the floor
your eyes
were flashing
as I pulled you into me
fully
the silence
was broken
as I screamed your name
into the night
OldBear-there's this thought in modern poety that it's all about the imagery and pretty words that paint it. My intention here was to try, with very basic words and very limited imagery, to show that a poem can be any mix of language, even the most bare. To me a poem is something visceral, something that draws a response, and can be something beyond flowery prose written by Mary Oliver.
Not a past memory, maybe a future one some day...
Rhythm is perfect for the content, the content was almost visual if you know what I mean. Exciting. From a memory?