Sunday, August 1, 2010

Bl. Thomas Welbourne

I watched you pluck the lilacs

from a cracked vase and devour

the entire bunch.

you smile. there are bits of petals

stuck in all those gaps that the wind

always tries to whistle though.

your hair is a shipwreck. your mouth

is a field of wheat. your eyes fall

somewhere between dawn

and morning.

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