Tuesday, January 17, 2006
Time
I savored the storm-ridden sunset
like a spoon full of sherbet - orange,
curved and cool behind my eyelids.
But night air rides the train whistle
and rusts the horizon-spoon against my tongue
while leaves turn aside,
belly up in submission,
and wilt away.
There is darkness in January thunder -
in pockets held tight to my hip
and nothing sweet
in the winter rain of my chest.
congenital heart defectpoetry
posted by Erin @
4:55 PM
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