the winter trembling
at the sound of your voice,
necessary and haunting,
as if a reminder of one
who triumphs in this
desolation, in this desperation,
your eyes blanket the
dusk, halts it from
ever coming near, words
perennially lost to
the depth of your soul
and the meaning of these
bruises we hold out of
too much love, out of sadness.
No comments:
Post a Comment