Pasted down to your forehead
like hair in the rain,
caught in the frosty embrace
of an early winter's morning
come too late and
never lasting long enough.

Wrapped around
your broad shoulders,
a forgotten shirt
hanging in misty silence,
anticipating the stroke of sun
burning holes in this solitude.

Latched through
your belt buckles,
clinging to sapphire stitching,
a restraint modelled
on unrelenting need
for an artificial umbilical.

Tied to your shoelaces,
dragged along the ground
through the last remains
of our mid-season mudslide -
a bitter reminder
that we will never fly

09/02/2003

Posted on 09/02/2003
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