Anthology of dreams (drownedinwords) wrote, @ 2005-05-26 12:28:00

Little Cabin

There was a time
I'd have tingled
With all these half-suggestions
Of potential blossoming into
Broken sleep

Or thrilled at the glance
Of the waitress
(her name was jessica, as if they cared)
whom my friends saw empty of pride

But these organs of me are gone now,
or at least subdued by something
less guilty or cold
less empty of red hair and
early morning fire

and maybe it's the distances
pulling fidelity taut,
that every smile makes it hum like a siren,
two empty cans strung across oceans
for low promises to be whispered through
strung to where you lie awake
wet faced
with all the things I cannot shed
in such an unfamiliar place.