Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

The Third Suite


Your fingertips, like a felt tip pen,
Trace kindly around my mouth,
As if you were symbolizing the moment,
And I, your greatest emblem.

Life around us dark, thick and black like a dirty Labrador.
Yet, somewhere the mountains were rising nowhere.
And still, I heard the passing bell.
It cried along with the tangerine dawn,
Scattering the doves and robins from their dreams, their sleep.
I sing low in the third suite.
For the precious friends’ that are hid in death.

I am here in evening’s stillness,
Alone only with the lyrics of cicadas and airplanes,
I walked these three city blocks, looking for something—anything.
But, I am unsure of what exactly.
Maybe a shortcut home?
A smile or even October,
After a gentle rain.

Your thick fingertips,
Still working their way around my simple pink mouth,
Redirecting these lips of mine to yours–
Symbolizing the moment,
And I, your greatest emblem.

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3 thoughts on “The Third Suite

  1. Yr tale well-told took me away, wistful. My favorite line was “For the precious friends that are hid in death”/ I’ll look forward to looking in again/ Thanx

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