follows black leather footsteps
seconded by the pitter-pattering of a fist-sized machine.
i am jailed by your memory
these sparks of sunlight and walls of scented smoke and brownwood-rimmed picture frames
of evening coffee stains and cherry lip gloss
rent spaces at the back of my head.
eventually this present becomes a cage
and i , a restless bird fearing flight,
am longing instead to return
and rest in the warmth of your embrace
Home » Archives » 22. November 2009








