We were told to "FOR GOD'S SAKE!! Write something happy!" for a poetic society I'm in. This is as close as I got on the first try; I'll be checking some other possibilities out in the next week.
I am the Rose in your hand.
I am the distance between him and Her.
I am his car horn from her yard.
I am her rolling eyes.
I am his hand on her a**.
I am her twitch of irritation.
I am her glance,
........her surprise as she sees
...........................as she pulls out of the driveway.
I am the Rose in your hand.
I am the way he grinds.
I am dry-humping on the dance floor.
I am his laughter
........his drink in his hand
..........................his hand swinging out of touch.
I am her seat at the bar.
I am her anonymous martini.
I am her quest for the sender.
I am the other her he found.
I am the Rose in your hand.
I am his libido in the car.
I am her tears on her pillow.
I am an awkward lance of moonlight
........................................moonlight catching her eye
......................................................................her eye on the Rose
...................................................................................on her sill.
I am tomorrow.
........weeks later.
........years from now.
I am at her doorstep.
I am asking her.
I am the Rose in her hand.
I apologize for the liberal use of periods. Gaia doesn't like paying attention to the number of spaces beginning a line.
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Carpe Diem Ad Muertum
Sieze the day, to the death. There is no potential that shall be passed by, there is no piece of glory to fall by the wayside, there is no soul to left unsaved by the brilliance of language. As writers, we are gods.
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