Saturday, September 27, 2008

Come As We Are

Nothing left to give you but this
meagerness of poem, this pink heart
beat trapped below layers of skin
ribcage still as a cased violin
- so thin this rattle of bones.

To measure tick of winter's metronome
upon summer shoulders bare
to kiss the tremble from your hands
that once held spring toward me
- sprays of colour so many-petalled.

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