this morning, your slick notes rose
and bloomed swiftly; the music
stretched every corner of the moistened sky.
I tried to counter, slinging silent lines and curves.
Exhaling as they withered and failed
to form words, I fiddled with my useless hands,
tucked my chin, and tried not to breathe you in,
even as the damp settled into my hair.
Published in This So Called Life AnthologyLittle Poem Press © SherryDeanne 2004
An oldie but goodie (if I do say so myself) that jumped under my skin earlier today. Enjoy.
Monday, March 1, 2010
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