Saturday, February 22, 2014

The Last Morning

The Last Morning

This morning I felt
you melt, dripping like warm wax
might, red blush warm wax.
The pale light mixed in
with your aroma, sleep sweet.

You've a warm waxy
glow and my dewy
eyes blinked back my sudden tears
at the thought of all
that comes next for us.

Your horses whickered nearby.
Then I smelled leather.

‎February ‎22, ‎2014 3:16 PM


The chicken crossed the road. That's poultry in motion.

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