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Open Poetry #48
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Tomer
Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168
Michigan

0 posted 2012-09-27 06:45 PM



They use to sit atop the trails of the Eastern rooftops
where the shepherds let their flock
run by the wildfire of the soft wind
that touched down upon the Moroccan sun

He carried her voice into his pocket
for if she were to stray away into the
southern countryside
he could still feel her breathe onto his chest

They use to carve the edges
out of the brownstone homes
that shadowed the hills below
for their legs jabbed with the fleet of birds
that crossed the clairvoyant sky

Under the duck of the night
with the archway to the city
still lit by the busy walkways
As eyes wandered
Their hands raised against the braze of the quiet sun.

© Copyright 2012 Tomer Fried - All Rights Reserved
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