Tuesday, March 6, 2012

sonnet eighty one

armored by notes meant
only for your silence,
i offer the decadence of
my thoughts in your loneliness,

these tragic hands resurrecting
themselves in this poet's heart,
surviving through ink and pain,
carrying the flesh and scars

of your resonating hallow,
the bangs go louder as the
minutes hasten to tomorrows

stumbling upon a desire
that unfurls and decreates
itself in your sight.

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