Seeds

Tis sad, words to far and distant to be heard
Sentiment of a bygone era, to faint to hear but for the chosen few
Too few now to be counted and I fear too soon gone.

A brushed cheek, a flushed cheek and one heart skips a beat
Hand to cheek means nothing now but to those who capture hearts
and to those whose hearts need capture...

Hair in my face, a perfumes trace to speed the beat of a lonely heart
Touch of a hand, nape of neck and the lobe of an ear to lighty bite
Too subtle for these times but

Desire is a lost art, want is a lost need... to fast we speed
and loose the charm and fervor of lust... for want is the seed of love,
and seeds need time to grow.

by Gordon Merritt

Comments (1)

Too subtle for these.....nicely presented poem shared on. Keep on writing.