Sunday, March 1, 2009

Maybe this blog will just be poetry tid bits.


I'm the cool clear water in summer
cupped tight in your dusty hands.
Give me time, I'll find my way
into the creases of your fingers and
down their smooth knuckles, weaving

in and out of trails of black hair,
down the summit of your arm.
I'll pool at your elbow, then

Drip drip...

into a free puddle!

Just a little muddier.


______________
--------------------
Inhaling slow this
moment and watch ghosts dance,
Exhale nostalgia.

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