stonepoem : poems & poetry

He liked aubergines.
Not just for the taste -
but also for their look and shape
like silk bells stroked by moonlight
in extacious growth.
He loved their colour too
like the edges of neon in rain
or passion in the summer dusk.
Curved like a marble womb
in the palm of his hand.
Yes, he liked aubergines,
and so do I.

This entry was posted on Monday, February 7th, 2005 at 3:17 pm and is filed under Friendship, Memories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.