Friday, October 22, 2010

Waiting on the Winter, Writing it out

would wish it
open palm of
the thought, it
was blue
and then tasted
of mallow

the thought
that was the most

I make the window
a home, when you
go by in a sketch
of legs
of teeth

I am fetched
I am underneath

perfect, plain
entirely too lovely
in the cold-smelling

your face
festooned with
a promise.

1 comment:

  1. very white and sensory and blanketing,
    now i'm cold, which is good.