Friday, June 14, 2013

pretend

the slowly knotted ribbons of weather
have pulled tight the years. let's pretend
we are not used to this forever, that blood
is still red. I would make the lie tangible
and write my name in the frost flowers
that have grown in the corners of your eyes.
a last spark from a rusted steel, a flame that
will never find another season




.

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