The Poetry Of Banging Vickie  

HeavensDrkSide 54M
36 posts
12/14/2005 5:24 am

Last Read:
3/5/2006 9:27 pm

The Poetry Of Banging Vickie


I have this daydream sometimes. Its always set in Montreal. Its spring and though I've never been there I just know that somewhere in this city there is apple trees. The blooms have come and now they are fading and as we walk among them they serenade us with the whispers of their falling. The night still has a bite so we're always wearing jackets. Not to keep us warm because we're always that. Just to ward off the chill.

For the life of me though I never know why we're in Montreal.

I could tell you what I felt as we walked those streets arm in arm but it doesn't really matter. Those feelings weren't the most important things to me.

I could tell you what it felt like to make love to you later that night. What it felt like to be consumed by you. What it felt like when you asked if I was yours and I answered through clenched teeth "I am yours." Thats not really important either because your question was always moot.

What is important is this.

The moments. The random spaces between seconds consumed that we would never have back again and yet we spent them wisely.

I used to swear to myself that if only I could have just one of those moments then I would gladly donate any other moments I had coming to charity.

That moment never came and maybe you were just a light breath against my soul. A soft kiss before goodnight and yet those promises are still whispered on the wind and sometimes I hear them. When I look out the window at the moon I smile in the random spaces between seconds. The fantasy of moments spent wisely can never be discounted.

So just the same I think that in your memory I'll donate a few of those moments to charity. You never know when its going to come back around


Awww hell.....its prolly snowing in Montreal anyway


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