Brenton Booth, 10/12



I guess I am not the hero

I guess I am not the prince

I guess I am not the first violin

at the opera house

though to you

I play with the same

clarity and volume,

I just can’t do it:

I am fire in rain

I am desert in snow

my fingers are long

though my hands

can not hold

and my eyes are

question marks

that only the gods

can answer

and you were perfect

but now

I have to go, again.





We met in the hallway

made love under the stairs

slept with the doors open

and ate on the rooftop:

and years felt like days

and days like life.


Brenton Booth writes poetry and prose. He resides in Sydney, Australia. If you would like to read more of his stuff, Google his name. 

Promote. Poetry.
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