Portland Bound
#1
Portland Bound

Red hair, striking eyes, that warm smile
pierced my chest.

That caring look, staring at me
her ears listen to my breath.

Momentary divine abstraction for awhile,
brought by absurd chance.

The sand is falling in the hour glass,

with each scared kiss we share.
Without you how will I fair?

Looking at scribbles from time come and gone,
love is as if a re-run.

Where one is a transfer station,
on the way to Portland, the next destination.
Only one thing is impossible for God: To find any sense in any copyright law on the planet.
--mark twain
Rob Cave
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#2
I don't know how you could improve this poem. It seems like a personal experience told outright. It seems you could poetry it up through odd form or more figurative language. The former, I diced around with. I read it a few times, and took it to heart enough to reword it. Or refigure it. Only though as an example of how you could tamper with your poetry to give it some lasting effect without losing the personiacality.






Portland Bound

Red hair. Eyes, smile
pierces my chest,

the caring look listens
to my breath.

Momentary divine abstraction awhile.

The sand is falling in the hour glass

with each scared kiss
we share.
Without you how will I

?

Looking at scribbles from

time and gone,

by absurd chance,
love is as a re-run,

where one is a transfer station.
On the way to Portland.

It just inspired me that. I just read it that way.
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