Saturday, February 21, 2009

Perfect strangers

What was our love acquaint -
But proverbial ships which passed in the night
as brushing bows we whispered softly into the other’s sails.
Without commitment to amour nor anchor
that no words needed spoken except a sincerity of knowing
of what has past was once present awaiting we
meet again on the fated seas
- Of our souls.

© Charles Coakley Simpson 2009

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