September
You won't recall the longitudes we missed,
twas September somewhere in the Atlantic,
upon the cargo ship we traveled to aquatic
sovereign realms where our eighteen exist.
On that September we spoke under the rain,
there you caressed my eyes with your smile,
and I recited my verse from a folded file,
I had in my heart's pocket, of words arcane.
And it was you that cried in a blended truth,
made from sea shells and sunshine of a past,
we both lived the days of our shortest last,
blooming adorned apogee of our prime youth.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
Added by Poetry Lover
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