23
10
2007
The Stranger
I resurected another oldie for this prompt from Writers Island since I thought it fit well.
It was not the time of morning
for chasing dreams
like slippery fish tails
or shunning the shadow of her,
forever enshrined in perfection.
The wheels crackle over gravel
as she pulls away and
Summer lulls into Autumn
like a libretto dimming.
Though it is the morning
of the evening
of perhaps Armageddon,
I still bother
to straighten the sheets,
fluff the impression of her head
from the pillow,
and mask the mystery of our night
under the soft comfort
of quilted down.
© RonRusso 2007
I think it does fit quite well. "fluff the impression of her head from the pillow"…I love this line.
I like the imagery of your poem, even though it hints at everything falling apart later that day.
Though it is the morningof the eveningof perhaps Armageddon,I still botherto straighten the sheets WOW! This is as good as it gets.
Strong, emotional yet distanced. Nice poem!!