Monday, 12. November 2007
Losels
To match the night that sleeps
in your eyes, I borrow words from
morning light canting at the window.
I hide among trembling grass, tuberoses from the garden, and apple trees. Under these I would like to drown in the rivers
That flow through your arms, and tremble as I touch the coral of your mouth, the coal of your hair, the wind-sieved stars of your skin: revenants for which these lines are losels.
My Poems
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