the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Thursday, September 2, 2010

The Eventually Clause

I wrote equations in the smoke,
Trying to hold the patterns in breaths
Of someone born with a crystal lung.
There were cautious steps
Pressed against fragile rungs
For the ascension into a precious suspension.
Fears were spun in a web,
Silence as soft as silk
As delicate as what the death of it would bring.
Your memory is left in golden strings,
Lesser every time I sleep,
Reduced to smoke that I can't breath.
I don't want to leave you here, eraser in ink.

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