Image borrowed from Yahoo"Will you let me walk you home?"
She looked at the twilight outside
and nodded. An inch of freshly fallen
snow pristine on the ground.
We walked that old familiar path
like the first people on earth, or the last;
every step a venture into the unknown.
All along I tried to imagine
what her lips would feel like
softly pressed against mine - moist,
not chapped as they appeared.
We spoke of other things:
an upcoming class trip, chemistry,
and what our last summer would be like.
"See ya", we said at her dooryard gate.
Then the walk home. The walk home.
Andreas Hishiriyo
Posted over on his site Love as Poetry
Listed as #5 over on Magpie Tales 50
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