She played her harmonica,
Like she was kissing,
dreaming flowers,
And her hips like petals,
would sensuously sway,
And it felt alright to feel the blues,
Every now and then,
To caress its curves,
And feel some serenity of joy,
and bliss,
Like lillies along the lakeshore,
A carefree salsa by the bonfire,
Like that girl sashaying,
down honeysuckle lane,
who sweetly kisses,
Without kissing,
Like sunshine and moonlight,
Dancing in the wind,
She wasnt wearing a sun,
or evening dress,
Just her cozy denim,
Her sass and flair,
and some melody of moon,
combing her spritely hair,
waltzing,
through her silver harmonica,
that sang like honeysuckle gold,
In some jazzy cafe,
One moonlit star strewn,
Fine wine evening
Reynaldo Casison
-
Author:
Reynaldo Casison (
Offline) - Published: January 31st, 2024 00:40
- Category: Love
- Views: 7
- Users favorite of this poem: Tom Dylan
Offline)
Comments2
Wonderful imagery. I could almost hear the harmonica. Very well done.
Thanks Tom,
Appreciate it
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