the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Thursday, February 11, 2010

An Independent, Crooked Smile

Without demand, an explanation
And soft vibrations throughout your hand.
You don't need to read your laces
With nervous spaces in shaky shouts.
You can leave your compensation
The sensation will come about eventually.
So wandering words can come to rest,
You can brush them off your heavy chest.
Words more sensitive than the dust in your eyes;
Breathe, my friend, there's one more in your life.

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