The Poetry Of Tao Writer – January 6, 2002

Each friend represents a world in us possibly not born until they arrive, and it is only by this meeting that a new world is born.

—Anaïs Nin

Tao Writer  (April 17, 1948 -)

January 06, 2002

We met while walking in different directions
going to and from a memory of the past
on that bright warm January morn.
It’s strange how life just happens,
how unconnected lives become intertwined.
Is fate to blame for our comings and goings,
the things we remember, the things we forget?
It is said, we always remember the moment love ends,
when the lovemaking becomes bad sex,
or an expectation takes the place of
a “thank you” and a “please,”
but we never remember the very
first moment love begins.
……..I do.

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