Thursday, January 13th, 2005

Time

Event

4:25a

SHE SPEAKS WITH TONGUES OF THE DEAD I get the impression this has become more than some can handle Grow up When washed ashore Or lost among wooden sentinels When collected in your tiny hands Or lost in your cluttered head I know I’m safe Coiled in your hair Or placed upon your shelf Nose to nose Or stitched into a wound I know I’m safe In lyric Or in praise On the tip of your brush Or buried under your nails I know I’m safe Elbows now rest on bent knees Bangs dissect her eyes Vulnerable thoughts tremor in the wake Fragile kisses attempt fruitlessly to atone Do you remember when I compared your skin to the pedals of an orchid? even in this cold that remains true I’d give anything to play with the hair on the nape of your neck once more. "...and i feel this coming over like a storm again... ~maynard~ (1 Comment | Comment on this)

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