the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Summer Plans

These are little pockets of warmth
Stored as promises for more.
The hot floor sticks to my steps
And keeps me rooted where I need to be,
Between the penciled in lines,
Resting on the spine of stability.
My limbs branch out like a tree,
My fingers trace the lining
As I wait for my turn.
These are my hopes turned to
Pollen and leaves,
Calming the creases of thinking,
But brooding on the intentions.
And with definitions in a shell,
I will hatch my own inventions.

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