Sleep well my angel,
rest under the apple tree
beneath the stars,
soar with the birds,
dance with butterflies,
play in green fields,
and rows of catnip,
purr the stars away.

I am not far my love;
from the kitchen window
I see the mound-a fresh scab
to cover the wound.
Until we meet again,
remember our satin hours
when I became you,
and you became me.

02/08/2002

Posted on 02/08/2002
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