Voracious

This is how I imagine us,
just the two of us on the edge of civilization,
on the edge of the world’s madness,
nothing else mattering
but the touch of your hand in mine,
a dream perhaps in a voracious world
that eats time and love with equal appetite.

About this poem,

A poem about love. About faith. About heart happiness. And the word that does not care. But we can care. We can turn the tables.

Poetry is never about one thing. Even short ones.

The photograph was taken in the backyard of an old friend.

Tom