Saturday, December 01, 2012

Some of the shape of the sound
Slips in deep
A stiletto in an unexpected dark
Black and warm
I am comfortable like a couch
That's seen too much wear
All frayed and unafraid
But warmed by some foreign sun.

No comments:

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...