Wednesday, May 30, 2012

sonnet one hundred twenty six

drawn to the soliloquy of
your silence, the argument of
your stares, the heaven of
your darkness, the prison

of your furtive lips -
caught by the limbs of
your bent and naked light,
reaching for the surface,

aching to recover and
torn between madness and
healing, more than the

arid earth that you walk
upon, i invite you to break
the stones of my calm.

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