the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Saturday, September 11, 2010

New Roslyn

Irises are songbooks in the color of your eyes,
A blindness in quotations turned the first day of a life.
Liquid crystal interests in holding onto the frays
Made you deacon of deception and master of crochet.
This textual hypothesis of fact is repetitious,
But stands just as progressive as the lovely coming back.
The inspections lasted all through the night,
Untangling laughter from the weeping willow.
Your silhouette stained on scented pillows,
And you clung to me like a silly band-aid
Where I've always needed it the most.

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