Looking over my life's ouvre (actually just cleaning out the garage) I found some of my earliest poems. This one, I think, is okay. You'll forgive me if I file most of the others under "Youthful Indiscretions."
"What I am in the morning is what I really am,
When you bend down for my sleepy, slack-mouthed kiss.
I feel like a new thing--
warm, and with
wet feathers."
Helen H. Moore (aged 19)
When you bend down for my sleepy, slack-mouthed kiss.
I feel like a new thing--
warm, and with
wet feathers."
Helen H. Moore (aged 19)
Word of the Day: Kiss-- to touch or press with the lips slightly pursed, and then often to part them, and to emit a smacking sound, in an expression of affection, love, greeting, reverence, etc.
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