Hurry across the promenade,
run your fingers upon the shallow depth of field
the periwinkle silence that surrounds;
perhaps, I am a fool for being in love with small things,
the ones that often go by unnoticed–
the sounds of early morning,
sweet, melancholy song that’s sung aloud
the salt on my tongue is witness to the changing atmosphere.
A thorny bush of roses,
the smile that forms on your face
when you catch me glancing upon my shoulder;
tell me, would you exchange them?
Let go to the extent that fire in your soul is extinguished?
Poems carried inside one’s pocket,
coolness of early Spring air and a kind word spoken;
these are the things that matter, don’t they?
Perhaps, I am a fool for being in love with small things,
the ones that often go by unnoticed.
Photo credits: Dream Portrait, Antonio Mora, Pinterest
Posted for “Play It Again” @ Real Toads
Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United