Looking for Clouds on Paradise's Horizon

It's fake, this bliss. Well, not quite fake.
Ephemeral; it cannot last. We have
This lovely afternoon, and, lost in it,
Within the shade of arching trees,
We sit and talk. I take your hand.
We kiss again, and all our mundane
Cares and duties (as do better
Waiters) pull away to let us be
Alone, and, being so, we are in
Bliss, though, doubtless not
For long.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 32 times
Written on 2013-06-30 at 15:00

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