words
not far from away
make promises-
move one wound into another
rest perfectly
by medolic beats
to the floor-
and I can hear you
(distance paintless)
a language in your voice
speaking something familiar
my mind sparked
blinded-
by the grace of your pain
you speak into me
my hands
that tremble in ways
of conviction

10/08/2002

Posted on 10/08/2002
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