Friday, March 27, 2009

I wrote this exactly a year ago (again)


Overgrown emerald fescue
intertwined with golden patches of grass
cradle my bare feet,
while I sit on worn boards
as the wind and your fingers
tousle my hair.
And I cannot decide
which soothes me more.

Pale light from heaven
filters through the clouds
and kisses my shoulder,
where your lips rested
only hours earlier.
And I cannot decide
which warmed me more

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