eagles
I’m sitting in a park
and I’m reading,
Bukowski
That isn’t relevant
so much as it happened.
Does that matter?
I’m thinking about this poem
inspired to imitation?
A bit.
And then I see her.
The sun is behind
as she comes at me,
all her curves are radiant
she is glowing
sun blazing around her blinding form
Around her legs
her face
she’s so beautiful
too beautiful,
to see?
She walks past
out of the sun
And I can see her at last.
It is amazing
sometimes,
how someone can make you feel,
and sometimes,
how fast regret can set in
