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Thursday, 19 July 2012

Lovers Inn

In a red brick building down town 
Through the saloon doors that swings like old western 

The floors that squeak with each step yell 
The aged worn faded luster of furniture to post 

The half darkened window to keep in 
What as without privilege, outsiders to know 

A high chair empty awaits my rest 
A man stands with towel, a repeat clean of  glass jugs 

Words mean little if looks says all that needs be said 
Words here are to be nodded, winked and acknowledged   

A clean glass freshly worked on by the towel's strain 
A sound of gentle knock on the nossel before pour 

A slide on the table, motion knows just when to stop 
Adjustment of composure to symbolize appreciation 

This here is to quench my thirst with lovers wine 
This is the lovers inn, a quite share in lovers heart  

Behind, the western saloon doors do open with shrill   
A step on squeaking floor familiar, she approaches; hey love 
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  1. my favorite line, "Words mean little if looks says all that needs be said"

  2. "The floors that squeak with each step yell"

    That's a great line. I grew up going to my grandparent's farmhouse that was built in 1802. No matter how quiet you tried to be, the warped floorboards screamed your presence. Love it.

  3. That was enjoyably restful -- makes me want to go somewhere for a little sit-down myself!

  4. I love the images you create. Incredible detail with such sparse wording.


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