Sunday, January 4, 2009

The Same Strokes lead into Old Habits

Where this sea of quilts that once embodied you are covered in your scent
I pretend you lay closer to mean than where you are in actuality
And I can only wish I were fragile and blue for you, waiting in the melancholy waste
As prayers and conversations with God begin to mean less and less than before
Just as Early mornings meet late afternoons, we lose track of all time, track of our minds
While the older women down the street converse about their youth, we're trapped in ours
As my hands reach to your cheeks to touch your beautiful porcelain cheeks
I imagine our bodies falling into the sea and my eyes wake before we hit the bottom
While these strokes lead us into all of our old habits, You keep on coming back


1 comment:

  1. I love your writing.

    Just thought I'd let you know.