Friday, April 19, 2013

That Thing Poets Do In April: 17/30

It was a summer snow fall
The tree still budding with inexperience
The sky was sea green
I saw myself talking to a women I've never met
The volume of her voice carried a level of intimacy
That suggest we shared a constilation
That's not the case

Her lips were pierced 20 minutes past the hour
Bells in my head ringing like usual
Warning me of the approaching dawn
Wanting to wrap this up
Take this time with me
I may want to see it later

It's been  forever since I slept through an alarm
Deep sleep sentences 
Handed down 
From below
Don't judge me
You're aware of all the things that's going on 
While you're still daydreaming
Still thinking
"That would..."

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