Love Poem

He wants me to write a love poem,
and, being old,
I think back to how it used to be
when we were young
and loved each other
without knowing it
over cans of tomato soup
and takeout eggrolls.

How our wool coats smelled
like mothballs and garlic
the winter we lived
in the damp apartment
above Pizza King.

And how the back
of his neck smelled
in the newlywed mornings
when we didn’t,
oh, we didn’t want to wake up.

Copyright Kay Winter

Advertisements
Tagged , , , , , , , ,

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: