5.19.2008

Her

Her words are beautiful and desperate
(portraits of a moment)
petals of a broken day

Kettle steams up the street window

Lonely child tears clean
the bitter sweetness off 'er face
and let the sun dry those fears
To cradle love in wrinkles of a pure smile,
fall asleep, drink some tea . . . ya know :
stay for a while

And the pores of her fingers were a' achin.


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