The Song of Morning Doves

By Michael Aaron Gallagher

Your fingers,
the dance,
like a castle in the sand.

Your eyes,
the sky,
like a wave upon the shore.

Your lips,
the reach,
like a conductor’s symphony.

Your mind,
the song,
like a lover’s gentle touch.

Your soul,
the picture,
like an endless overture.

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Excerpt from Michael Aaron Gallagher’s unpublished book of poetry titled “Worn-Out Cinema.” Copyright © 2000.

The above work is not to be used,  reprinted or broadcast without written permission from the author.