Black hair, dark eyes,
lips pursed delicately
around the straw
through which you draw
your frozen coffee:
If I could cup your face
in my hands you might
touch my cheek with a fingertip
and brush a few hairs off my forehead,
and that one moment could be
framed and held, brought out
and regarded, contemplated
on a long, dark winter afternoon.
lips pursed delicately
around the straw
through which you draw
your frozen coffee:
If I could cup your face
in my hands you might
touch my cheek with a fingertip
and brush a few hairs off my forehead,
and that one moment could be
framed and held, brought out
and regarded, contemplated
on a long, dark winter afternoon.
Gregory Luce, author of Signs of Small Grace, Drinking Weather, Memory and Desire, Tile, and Riffs & Improvisations (forthcoming), has published widely in print and online. He is the 2014 Larry Neal Award winner for adult poetry, given by the DC Commission on the Arts and Humanities. He writes a monthly column on the arts for Scene4 magazine. He is retired from National Geographic, works as a volunteer writing tutor/mentor for 826DC, and lives in Arlington, VA.
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