Monday, February 27, 2012

sonnet seventy

i glide and trip then i gather
the weight of wounds
and drown them in water
leaving only the indelible,

infallible full brightness
of your smile, dispersing shadows
and conundrums, now i lay
haunted by the slightest

trace – a sigh, a breath, a
glimpse – all the things you
thought would go unnoticed

but these hands are aflame
with desire and leans toward
the spinning, spiraling night.

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