Sunday, September 19, 2010

Gary Imperial

I can sense that you are close,
you may even find me here.
Your whispers echo on the wind to me.

Ah, but you've been close before.
A float above my page.
I even thought I saw your mist-like form.

But you are Jasmine in the air.
You are Vanilla from it's pod.
As fragrant as a memory in my mind.

You want to savor the delight,
of fruition as a poem.
You long to be the Apple from the tree.

I now relinquish my control.
Use my hand to take your shape.
Ah, there you are, born upon my page.

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