Tuesday, April 20, 2010

She was classically beautiful.
She had a nose like an oboe.
Carving through the hills that hang
Brown and pregnant with the frost
A silver spoon with dirt stained hands
Rests easy on the porcelain curves
Not enough mouthfulls to go.

 I'm bad at vulnerability     I like to tie off places  Where mess might hide Might wander in to introduce themself Until I'm all kn...