Oratory: Love 3

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Love 3

When Love comes again
he's gentle and kind. He holds
my hand. He brushes my hair.
He stands outside the closed

door, reading me poems.
He speaks in parables
and metaphors. He holds
my breasts when we sleep.

When I leave, I go quietly.
I take nothing. I dream
that he weeps in my closet,
smelling my clothes.

Posted by sbpoet in *NEW*, The Love Series | Permalink

Tags: love, poem, poetry

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@WATERMARK |A Poet's Notebook

About Sharon Brogan

Disclaimer

Please do not assume that I am the speaker/ subject of my poems.

In these times of creative nonfiction and fictionalized memoirs, I think of the poem itself as true fiction: it is most likely not factual, but it must be true.

It is likely to be -- it is best if it is -- a truth I did not know before I wrote, and may not understand even then.

A poem is my way of discovering (dis-covering) what I feel; sometimes, what I think -- but it is not necessarily biographical.

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