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| Joined: | Fri Jun 9th, 2006 |
| Location: | Oz, Minnesota USA |
| Posts: | 1085 |
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of your index finger
that last sip of chilled zinfandel;
this I understand more than what
you said to me
a bowl of moonlight by the rear
door; by morning, it is iced over
the times we hold each other closer
because of lightning
the bald spot on the back of the man
near Columbus Circle after he asked
for spare change
a white-washed fence and the young girl
cycling, zig-zagging through fallen leaves
and crab apples
salt spread on driveway ice; at midnight,
all the silent houses
Last edited on Tue Feb 21st, 2012 06:17 pm by timmy