it's not the matchbook
or the smoke between your teeth
it's not the book of mists and clarity
open on your knees
it's the dark
old girl you left
she is your deep teacher
even welcoming the last dregs of your mind
to curl around her feet.
you watch her
between the bitter smoke and the chronicles,
her waves roll on
roll under your watch
behind your fumbling hands and tanned skin
roll up under your ribs and curl around
your insides.
old girl you left. old friend.
she welcomes your sun-stained heart
into her waves
deep as a teacher.
aug 15, 2007
1 comment:
I think this one is my favorite of the most recent you've posted so far.
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