Static sound destroying the
dropping of eaves.
A tone, still heard,
welcoming and warm;
wishing my name to be spoken
through those lips, to be conjured
with the thoughts of love.
How can we meet in the
“real world” when I am so
filled with apprehension?
Speaking would be
such an easy thing, but
I tense at the thought.
Her smile, professional.
Her wish of a good day disingenuous
as I am just
another face passing through;
soon to be forgotten by
work more pressing.
The bell above the door rings
to signal my exit; an escape to
wait another moon’s passing
for these fanciful thoughts.
Awaiting the day either
I work up the courage, or
she is no longer there.
by Erik Shinker
I have been loving your poetry of late 😀 Really invokes an emotion. Great work.
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Such wistful yearning in this poem.
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