Wednesday, January 5, 2011

A swarm of dawns, a flock of restless noons.

"Her coloring was a hybrid
Of rubbed amber and the little flare of dawn rose in the kernel

Of an almond. It's a wonder to me that I have fingertips.
The knife was very sharp. The scented rose-orange moons.

Quarter moons, of fruit fell to the cutting board
So neatly it was as if two people lived in separate cities...

I would have given my fingertips to touch your cheekbone,
And I did."


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