‘Tis better to have loved and lost
Than never to have loved at all.
In Memoriam, Tennyson
What matters your inner thigh,
petal soft,
white as milk
now?
And your shoulders
broad enough to carry
the weight
of the world?
Who remembers
your sharp wit,
clever serpent’s
tongue?
Or every small kindness
and selfless act,
committed in
moments of madness?
Your qualities slough
away in the rain,
so much sediment
for sentiment.
Your finest moments
crumble beneath
the pressure of the hours
marked into eternities.
Evocative and lovely.
Rgrl, your poem asks important questions, beautifully. I have to resist my natural tendency to believe it answers them. That top photograph makes me aware that our lives have layers, plies, topography; they erode and they endure.
Just lovely. Thank you again for touching my heart when it most needs to be held.