Tuesday, April 23, 2013

I will draw you forth
When the morning is bitter
To hold you like a breath
Warm against frosted glass
Lost in my own deep snow
Pining for primeval forests
Of my own rumbling ancient past
And a stick to keep the beasts of now at bay


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How do I lose myself?

I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...