Friday, December 16, 2005

bead

my fingers smell after you
as we, the rejected few,
declare a dramatic love affair.
my hair grows longer
as your face grows thinner
and we are lost in eyes
deeply set in on some truth,
some sound or some food.
with no resolution,
we are resolved to this string
of whispers in the dark
on some unholy marriage bed.

2 comments:

arch.memory said...

Wow! Your on a wonderful roll! It's exquisite! Just exquisite. I'm not gonna say more. You know...

Snake said...

Glad I found this. Kept me awake a bit longer than I had planned tonight.
I like.