| | here we are, black water overflow
dead skin itches – fine, I’ll stop
no more of these questions
I’ll keep my lips sealed
silver-plated zipper, like the one up the front
of your little red hoodie
following the curve of your chest
to the center of the throat
where the pulse of your breathing
comes and goes
like the singing of the dove in the fog of the morning
comes and goes like lovers
who know not yet what it is they hold between each others’ hands
their fingers lithe and slick with the residue of life
sticky like the sap of an oak
sliding slowly over the scars left by the wind
and the rain
and our two small hands leaving initials of our names
like careless butterflies leaving cocoons
like careless butterflies
leaving cocoons
careless
like butterflies
leaving |
| | Posted 6/1/2009 2:08 AM - 6 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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