Friday, December 28, 2012

Friday's Children by Afzal Moolla


I think of her,
biting her bottom lip as she whispered fare-thee-well.

I feel her,
the warmth of her embrace as we lay counting the stars.
I smell,
lightly scented roses strewn across her body.

I miss her,
desperately pouring longing into verse.

I taste her,
as lingering kisses slowly fade.

I need her,
a comforting presence dispelling the stormy clouds.

And still,

I think of her,
biting her lip as she waved her final goodbye.

Copyright © 2012 by Afzal Moolla

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