Friday, August 08, 2008

She said,I want to take your hand.
Her trembling expectations.
I want to walk on the clouds, she said.
Her fingers pressed up against the window pane.
His frown a smudge that blurred and darkened his face.
She said, she said, she said:
I'm going to fly.
High and far.
Away away away.
From here.

Her bare feet were dusted with dirt
And she rested her weight now here, now there.
The lover of this someone's daughter
Wrapped his unmoving arms around her waist.
If I love you, how can you run?
If the wind must catch you like a kite,
How will I hold you from so far away
On such a fragile web?

He said, he said, he said.
As she leaned against the frosted glass,
His breath drew circles on her neck
And his whispers encircled the strands
Of her golden hair.
Her smile caught in the glass
While she repeated,
As if his words were only ash,
Falling dead from his lips,
I'm going to fly.
Away, away, away.

Friday, August 01, 2008

Press your hands against mine.
I miss your warmth.
The nights are so cold here.
The chill is set in my bones.
Place the kindling under my toes.
Build the fire right.
A little wind,
Now - not too much -
To give it life.
Press your lips to mine
Once more.
I've missed your tenderness.
The binds are loose,
Like you thought I'd walk away.
Oh dear,
You mustn't worry so much.
There, now, can't feel a thing.
Close your eyes, love,
If it's too much.
And I'll close mine, too.
I can feel it already -
The warmth is building
As the fire climbs.
Let go now, dear.
I'm finally comfortable enough
To die on my own.