Tuesday’s Child

He sat at this table,
Years ago,
Writing her letters
In a densely symbolic language
Only the two of them
Understood;
For every real love
Is an entirely new language.

The truth about love is this:
It forms little cultures and
Subcultures wherever it
Can take root and bloom.

In her eyes, he was a perfect
Tuesday’s Child —
Full of grace in thought and gesture,
While to him,
She was Summer and the sun
And the scent of a cup of coffee
Whose ethereal steam was
Destined to touch the sky

Author: Owen Servant

Owen "Beleaguered" Servant (a/k/a Sibelius Russell) writes poetry mostly, with an occasional pause to have a seizure.

One thought on “Tuesday’s Child”

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s