By James Conway
Words are not enough, its rather the notion of a blue sea-
the waves we always sailed upon and the dedication of minutes
filling up the tempo of our day.
Now I reach out into emptiness and feel tenderness fleet
away. But on recall, I see you looking into fashion windows
on a street in Milan.
An open door into memories, trusting into days of laughter
and when darkness came in weariness, we’d coffee in some
little shop, with an atmosphere where we could linger
in the enormity of forever, where romance spelt stillness
and the holding of your hand.
