Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Michael Gonzalez

4TH WAS THE 9TH…

She was the 9th girl I ever fell for
Long dark curls I wanted to get lost in
Lips so perfect a smile was almost a shame
Almond eyes tore through me to take my words
Olive skin my fingers yearned to know how smooth
Legs long enough to make my thoughts a sin
Friendship so good I didn’t want it to stop
“4th in the Year” was my poem about her
I never told her how she made me feel

2 comments:

  1. The "number 9" connection is pretty tenuous - I like "lips so perfect a smile was almost a shame", but the rest seems a bit sentimental and cliched. Sorry, it just didn't do much for me.

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  2. this poem is lovely, a familiar chain of how thought and memory DO us.

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