9/14/12

neon warble

wanted to
warm your bones
the way you
cooked mine with your
neon warble

you are the
constant climber, the
long down yodel.
the notes as stems,
sip the self-conscious
sweetness poured slow

quiet now, a
chirp: the softest
coo, the amber
hush of evening rests
in a burgundy meniscus

1 comment:

  1. You did, still do.
    My legs are spaghetti.
    Who, You.
    That smile, that grin
    fuzzy hair, that chin.

    The beauty,
    elegance,
    folded silk.
    A rose,
    indeed.

    The rose's torns are visible.
    Tickles and tingles.
    Torns empower,
    and breaks down.
    No more broken pieces,
    a puzzled mind.
    I'm left
    as a questionmark.

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