our silence comes easy
and there is much to it
the commingling of our fingers
and the swapping of palm oils
and the nimble saltation of fingertips
it says so much.
and yet you stare at my neck
and say that my throat is the
home of a chorus of birds
and such harmonies never allow
for secrets.
Monday, August 15, 2011
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Reach for the clouds. . .
Tickle your toes. . .
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shake up my heart and flavor your life it is full of holes. you cannot see me for I am brow deep in my old pain and I cannot speak because I...
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RICK: Hey Rick? DICK: Yea, Dick? RICK: See that sky roll on by? (points) DICK: ...Oh, my... RICK: Don't i-t'almost makes yer wanner....
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when we are twisted up together-in blankets and the colors of the outside of our window- are washed out in the storm.
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like me- it serves as a question as well as an appropriately foolish letter in bad company it only teams up with words like yodel, ...
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a delicious party? a change of environment? Look at that trading in your "leopard pilbox hat" for a rusty chain, tug me back (agai...
This is gorgeous - so sensual and still at the same time. Love it.
ReplyDeleteFrom tactile to the abstract; what a wonderful relationship.
ReplyDeletethanks! ;)
ReplyDeleteWhat did he mean by that? (kidding) Lovely writing! I enjoyed this one very much.
ReplyDeleteHere's my offering for Potluck 48: http://charleslmashburn.wordpress.com/2011/08/14/the-lake/
smart one.
ReplyDeletelove the message behind.