Go out, it is cold.

If you don’t remember how I used to kiss you
Take a look at the willows by the road
Whispering behind your steps
Unheard awakening with the hands by you
The touches made hand printed into your oblivion
Take a look at the waves breaking
A name rock chiseled on the threshold of love
And at the foam that used to kiss your feet
Take a look at the door opening
That thirsty for your steps stood waiting for so long
And at the doormat that so often you stepped on
There are the traces of my warmth underneath
A welcome that I am saving from you
Go out, it is cold.

©Miroslava Odalovic

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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