in the brief time we found to be together,
you lay in the half light
exhausted, rich,
with your face turned sideways on the pillow,
and I traced the exquisite
line of your profile, dark against the white,
delicate and lovely as a child's.
Perhaps
you will cease to love me,
or we may be consumed in the holocaust,
but I keep, against the ice and the fire,
the memory of your profile on the pillow.
-Dudley Randall
2 comments:
Beautiful, no other way to put it...
Yea, exactly. I came across this poem in a book because when I got it there happened to be a bookmark to the page it was on. I found that kind of weird, because in a way I really relate to it...I have no idea who Dudley Randall is (or rather, was), but I really liked this poem, along with the other two of his that are in my book.
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