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Literature Text
Thursday, November 10, 2011
Just two more days
Until I can see you again,
Not on my computer screen,
But in person
Where I'll be able
To hold your hand again
And whisper in your ear,
Even though I'll probably tell you nothing.
I'll be able to hug you
And smell your shampoo
In your strawberry hair.
I'll be able to let you talk
Without having homework
Sitting in between us.
Just two more days,
But I think this poem
Is much more for me
Than it is for you.
Just two more days
Until I can see you again,
Not on my computer screen,
But in person
Where I'll be able
To hold your hand again
And whisper in your ear,
Even though I'll probably tell you nothing.
I'll be able to hug you
And smell your shampoo
In your strawberry hair.
I'll be able to let you talk
Without having homework
Sitting in between us.
Just two more days,
But I think this poem
Is much more for me
Than it is for you.
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Literature
First Flight
How frightening that first flight must have been,
hearts racing into the unknown,
and I should wonder how those men felt
at the first takeoff into the air,
gusts of wind beneath fragile wings,
if not for loving you.
Literature
Sink or swim
He stood on the dock
One foot reluctantly planted
The other standing at the ready
Like that fleeting moment
Suspended in mid-air
Gleefully anticipating the water on your skin
Yet apprehensive of those undiscovered depths
Which have yet to be kissed by sunlight
She dove in head-fist
Through the reeds and the icy darkness
And watched from below
As the light fragmented
Along the rippled surface
How stunning it was
Even in the deepest and feared unknown
Especially there.
In the light and in the dark
There was only him
He watched as she held her breath
Shackled by his own mind
Wanting for that planted foot
To be freed from its hesitations
Literature
Cadence
it was the softest idea that occurred to me,
while tracing the fresh memory of
your fingers on my skin,
calming me, like the sun going down on the wet, green earth;
this was the tenderness in your face as my tired tears
wet the cushions.
I was wholly encased in your warmth.
there I was slowly suspended, embryonic;
not still, but in a state of cadence,
returning to myself - harmonic
and returning.
you've seen me,
I arrive back to you every morning at the end of my long journeys,
the night still fresh in my cold hair
and the smell of quiet lingering between my fingers;
all the stars still clinging to my clothes and
I arrive at your body. th
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