in my dream
I sit in a coffee shop
composing haiku –
counting syllables
on caramel fingers
a reactionary in flip-flops
aging white linens
and faded parasols
tourists burning red –
alive in dime store
novels
sunlight see saws
across muddled
pink rimmed skies
whispers fill the street
I order another cappucine
swirling with foam regalia
– my collected sea of
memory
in my dream I am
a mere student of words
stealing minutes
from your sunset
before the moon smiles
o’er nights well remembered
from light years ago
when the stars
were our children
. . .
finbarsgift said:
…what lovely Beauty!!
tornadoday said:
Thank you, my dear one…..💖
finbarsgift said:
Thanks a lot, my dear poet 🥀
tornadoday said:
♥
finbarsgift said:
🌺
PapaBear said:
“when the stars
were our children”
You stir such a cauldron of dreams, and wishes, and desire, and memories with these words, Bobbie. …indescribable how you can touch the heart. ………….xo
tornadoday said:
♥ love keeps us all
grandfathersky said:
This dream we believe is our reality, this love we call our own, is shared among a thousand suns …
tornadoday said:
Across ten thousand blankets of sand…shores we never walked will cling to our memory…
samba2017 said:
I enjoyed reading this poem – I really like your style. I have a poetry blog here on WordPress and today’s poem is about flip flops in case you have time to look? Sunny greetings from Switzerland! Sam 🙂
Sapphire Wilson said:
I nust say, are a good writer😁