Tuesday, February 18, 2014

Streaks Follow

Fell, fallen in to the lake,

by the window, frozen on the mirror

an image of the snow,

stained like ancient silver,

it's warm enough by the fire,

dying embers burst like fireworks,

stare, gaze unto the bottom

quickly look away, and

the streaks follow, like sharp knives

of gold on the horizon,

One more drink, and it's off to bed...

With our arms entangled,

arrested in the sheets,

like photographs stuck together,

too long in a dusty old book,

The ground seems to swell...

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