By duchess on 11/06/2005
There is whitebread-worth in a lucky bottle cap.
I tasted victory in bubbly sips of a free 20 ounce Coke.
Bingo at the lake house, I won
twelve dollars when I was eight (staying up past eight).
on the comfortable coat called cash
felt the warmth of winners past.
there is a lot
of loss in this lake.
Like Gatsby's Daisy, I see glory flicker
across soft water, and create
my quiet drama.
The truest form of winning is
brushing up against love.
Ripples that will never be waves - they are infinite
in their pulsing
again, on end.
I have no laurel crown, that says - you're mine
to wear around.
There will be no victory cloak, and you may hang your head
like the Indian in the Moon.
Sighs are not dollars and we
are not winning,
our life apart is just beginning.
But I will swim this loser's loch and crawl upon your shore.
And wetly tell you standing there, that
though it is a sin
when I love you,
Moderator / Royalty
"For most of history, Anonymous was a woman." - Virginia Woolf
© By duchess On 11/6/2005 9:15:40 AM