Photo by Ricardo Gomez Angel on Unsplash
Clutching
her words
to my vest;
dropping
her dreams
into cloth bundle,
cinched tightly,
secured;
stuffing
my pockets
with her selfless acts
of kindness;
smuggling
her tenderness
to safety
undetected, strapped
to inner thigh;
like a bandit,
I steal away
with memories
of her.
***
Paranormal Women's Fiction, Urban Fantasy, and Fairy Tale Retellings with a Modern Twist
True tales over 50
exercising heart and mind, lest I waste away
Insight and inspiration for writers and readers
Some verses, some hues
"If you talk to God you're religious. If God talks to you, you're psychotic."
Gallery of Photography
Writing and Stuff by Chris Hall - Storyteller and Accidental Blogger
Aooga, Aooga - here there be prompts, so dive right in
Hephaestus’ Waste & Cosmic Rubble 
Those little clutches of memories are usually so much better then the real thing…..
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*nodding grimly*
I agree. So many stories…
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This is so good! I like reading it as being about one’s grown-up child and feeling melancholic about her being on her own. I have that coming up soon. 😦
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That’s a wonderful interpretation of my poem! Thank you for sharing it with me.
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