.
We pass each other on the stairway going in
to the smoke-filled room where a lazy rhythm all its own
beats out the tempo to the sound of dancing feet
and we look away, afraid that we’d be seen
sussing out the talent in my dream…
lifetimes gone before me, is it too late to start again…
oft times we need someone more than just a friend…
oh-oh this is such a melancholy moment ~
the past is gone and buried in the dust
and the future is entirely wound up in trust…
.
©Denise G Allen, 19 June 2013 20:11
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