DetailsThe poem, its numbers, and the conversation.

Final Moon

Member since 2002 · Posted 2 May 2007 · 5 comments

You touched me last night Like Sikh hands on apricots Your eyes slave white Journeyed through the voil For a moon that was average. I never touched you last night Like English hands on apples My eyes slave wet Journeyed through yours But the moon had passed. We touched again today Like surgeons on my Father Our eyes now imperial Journeyed through the voil For a sunrise that blinded us.

Rate it

0 is the worst, 10 the best. Pick a number, add a comment if you like, then send it. Keys: 0–9 pick, Enter sends.

mean 6.20 weighted 5.14 rank 5439 views 232 View voting details →

5 votes so far. Yours would make 6.5 votes so far

5 comments

[6] half.italian 5-May-07/11:46 AM Reply

I like some of the images, but they don't really join into a whole. Is this love? "surgeons on my father" says gentle to me, which is what I think you are going for. At the same time, the image of surgeons on my father reminds me of blood and sickness, rather than love. What are "English" hands? "slave", "voil", "blinded", "average"

All those words in this poem just confuse me.

[n/a] Caducus › half.italian 13-May-07/11:46 AM Reply

I meant clinical, its an end of the affair thing. The last line is the awareness its over

[6] pete 7-May-07/4:02 PM Reply

kinda nice

[9] Dovina 10-May-07/1:27 PM Reply

Really like; "My eyes, slave wet, journeyed through yours." Been there, done that; and that's what makes a poem.

Do you mean "voile"?

[10] nypoet22 20-May-07/11:51 AM Reply

i like.