Stories

I told her what she wanted to hear -
to tell the day all over,
with sunset, romantic leaves,
branches of winter sparkle in
nonchalant gaze, hanging there
in frozen breeze.

It told the forest and then the night -
sky as it painted, scraped by heat,
breath, walking toward each other
when most in want, taken time
to watch steam rise from each other.

The dive back to predictably pleasant -
past that is ours, pictures, autographs
of us, of bars, cells we never tell,
clouds we never see - or look for -
in crowded streets, much better.

Now the megalopolis is here, comforting
a tale about us, you see, this surprise as
it unfolds, curtains drawn to heights,
scaffolds stand tall, let alone our might -
high as it is, we'll never tell this.

© 2014 Larry Ingram