Wednesday, December 29, 2010

St. Thomas Becket


it looked like wine

spilled and fanned out

over the tiles of the cathedral.


the O of your mouth

was a window. it made me

nervous just to look into it.


I saw some words

caught in the pools

of your cheeks.


there were birds

resting in the beds

of your molars.


this room is hollow,

your eyes are still

wide open.

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