Stiff hands, alone in a lowered sky at the end of a daily matinee
Becoming more unable to move the longer they stay that way
Brushing the velveteen folds of the heavy drapes
In a snow dying dream a girl comes with thin dry fingers, cold as well
But moving, and she brushes them against the dying pair in the folds
And makes the velveteen move against two faces instead.
feb 21, 08
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