lunedì 10 ottobre 2011

A Sonnet

an understanding comes in the small things

i gently brush hair from a pretty girls eyes
as she smiles     waiting for a small response
in her fingers, the quick flick of her tongue
as it beats the sides of her mouth, or knowledge
of the finest brand rolling from her lips      burning
like scotch against a strung out heart. i hear
a quiet sound walking between the rooms, a ghost
passing slowly around each voice. i gently
laugh at a pretty girl as she stumbles away
making each moment in the sun softer,
each needle mark recede faster, each second
shine brighter. i gently watch as the shadows turn
forcing thoughts and small moments into flower pots
and urns filled with grey ashes floating back home. 

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