by Timothy Burns
I really feel lost without Fall.
I walk around in a somnambulistic daze in this thick unyielding torridity.
I sit here in the dark on a Friday morning, typing this with the air turned to 70 degrees.
I don't want to venture forth into the day because I know my world come to an end once I open the door and feel the desperate heat greet me in breathtaking gusts and humidity worse enough to make you wish you could grow gills.
I feel absolutely, romantically charged. Like a lover in an airport peering over the heads of people looking for your face, just waiting for that connecting again, that spark to come back. I bite at my lip waiting impatiently for September 22, just to see your face again. Just writing this down makes me feel giddy. I can't wait to feel you in my hair, vellicate my face and hear you run in the fragile branches of the trees. I miss you so much.
Author's Note: I am just torturing myself. I seem to be so bloody good at it.
Posted on 08/20/2010
Copyright © 2021 Timothy Burns
|Member Comments on this Poem|
|Posted by Charlie Morgan on 08/23/10 at 08:06 PM|
...Tim, this is so cool.[no pun intended] a lilting write, and to use "somnambulistic" so well in poetics is genius. the whole idea/pome is on a grand scale of emotions. love it.
|Posted by Philip F De Pinto on 02/03/15 at 12:44 PM|
Autumn is what makes poets. Perpetual Summer is for ninnies. Love this ode.