Here, Now, Tonight

Poem By Christine Austin Cole

Dare I breathe even?
Would you hear, perhaps
Even the quietest of inhales
And exhales, were I to do so?
Might I be tempted to utter
Something perhaps not quite
Appropriate, were I to break
The seal that binds my lips
Under the guise of taking
A deep breath?

Had I and did you, could it
Somehow still be alright?
Or would moonbeams fade
And drift away on the memory
Of a shooting star? Would
Regret slip in and steal the air
And would the melody still
Live there? Or would the sound
Of my hushed and lonely voice
Tear it away?

Breathless, I am, and silent
At least for now as I consider the
Possibility that my eyes may
Give me away. Would you tell me
If they did? Should I close my eyes
And fall away to dream of moonbeams
Shining bright? And if I clasp
The air and beg the song and listen,
Quietly, as the night moves on…
Would that be alright?

- Or -

would you have me


... here, now, tonight?

Comments about Here, Now, Tonight

Gossamer threads of gold ……….when I chase after the music; that’s infused in every line, I’m left breathless by the beauty of thought! This poem may perhaps break me free from this solitary confinement of in expression that has plagued me for over a year now.
WOW... I held my breath as i read this was beautifully written and took me to that place where you were
oh wow, i've read a no. of your poems and each and everyone of them is astounding...i'm quite speechless...
Masterful love poem. Quite awesome. A unique take on a lovely theme and a lovely poem as well.
A delightful write Christine, delightful word picture. Best, Jerry

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Other poems of AUSTIN COLE

I Left A Poem

I left a poem on the side of the highway last night.

With every exhale, words, like litter, escaped me
To flee-float out and about and along,


To a claustrophobic, the confessional
was penance enough, she thought -
an upended coffin filled with rotting sins
and little more.

Air Born

She tumbled from the sky that night
White washed and too familiar
Holding cotton candy dreams
In her hand

Art (For An Audience Of One)

I may be Art
in the way that he was, she was
in the way that you,
most certainly, are –

Pregnant Pause

[For the record... even I find the choice and extent of the metaphor here really rather odd, and kind of intriguing]