"The difficulty of literature is not to write, but to write what you mean; not to affect your reader, but to affect him precisely as you wish." ~ Robert Louis Stevenson

Thursday, April 19, 2012


I remember, before,
We spent our evenings walking, going out, talking till late,
Grasping every moment we could be together.
It was exciting, that time when love was blossoming.

Now, eighteen years later,
We still go out, we still talk,
But more often in the evenings
We find ourselves on separate sofas, watching old movies.
And every now and then
A clever line of dialogue, or an obvious plot twist,
Makes me look at you, and you're looking at me too,
Thinking the same thing and smiling.
We don't even need words unless we want them.

I'm glad I have you to share life with,
To enjoy it twice, for me and for you,
To feel love ripening and bearing fruit
That brings sweetness into every day.

~ Tamary Shoemaker
(From a prompt at Poetic Asides to write a poem about a life event.)

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