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...
No comments:
Post a Comment