if it fits to pale yourself in tender flowers and eyelet ribbons, then so it is.
i cannot cloth you in anything but what you feel within.
an open smile from a stranger, scratches the ice thin surface-
'twould sink, warm and ice crumble
coming, if only, from him.
i wait my tea and steep it boiling, water over me.
i watch, i wither seasons stumble wonder where i'll be.
alas the day arriveth-
but i am there no more,
what is left is a distant shadow,
watch it dance across the floor.
No comments:
Post a Comment