if you were to ask me now
what I remember from those days
i would tell you without hesitation
it was the way she looked at me
how she looked at me in a way that
I could not tell whether she was
really seeing out of her own eyes
(there was in her a deep reticence)
though I told myself then that those
eyes of hers would look on long after
eyes had stopped looking—
a romantic notion i'd gotten
who didn't believe it either
as though there were
nothing on earth she would rather
look at than me
but there was fear behind
she was very drunk
All rights reserved.
jeez, so long since i have been here--
warm regards to all my friends--
i wrote this poem a few weeks back, put it in a drawer, where perhaps it belongs?
i like to try stuff out here...