Saturday, September 19, 2009


This bed is sand, slipping into cracks between fingers and folds of skin.
Small truths fall toward me, leaning, stretching, drifting closer
Like your body did.
My eyes are a flood of constellations, whispering more secrets,
That I'm still straining to hear with all my will.


Slipping behind liquid, fogging my vision.
Will this hurt I know away...

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