Sunday, March 14, 2004

love poem

10:30 a
ringing in my ears.
insides warm and liquid
we sit and slur.

swaying towards home,
i lean on your shoulder.
the trees surround us coldly.

we leave the dark,
moths to a candle.
light slivers out the doorway and on
retreats like it never existed.

i slip in the backdoor uncomfortable as silence.
you hand me a tennis ball from god knows where.
i still have it.

-winter, 1999.


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