- Non-Erotic Poetry
- Almost Born
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Almost Born
The hazel eyes smile at me.
They make me smile back.
To when he could see me.
To when I could stand
Beside him.
The pale, thin lips bestow life.
His shirt is pale blue.
Open at the collar.
His neck is long.
His hair is golden.
And to his shoulders.
His face is alabaster.
He looks at me from a photo.
He sent it with his Wednesday
Letter.
His letters always arrived
On Wednesday.
I pretended I was loved.
I have always pretended.
His lilting hand writing.
The stamp on the envelope
Just a bit cattycornered.
We were so young.
I was almost born in those
Two years.
It was a school photo.
His left hand rested on
His chin.
He looks serene.
He looks calm and
Meditative.
He was small boned.
And tall.
I whispered in my mind,
Constantly,
Please see me.
Really see what I feel.
See what I hide behind
To love you.
He saw, one rainy spring
Saturday.
He knew all along.
And that was why he went
Away.
Rod Serling’s posthumous
TV play was titled,
“All The Sad and Lonely
Sundays.”
It was about a man out of
Time.
A man whose heart lived
In a past place.
I was almost born in
Those two years.
I almost became real.
I almost held in my
Arms—
Joel.
He went away because
He knew.
The hazel eyes smile
Back at me.
I am lost.
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