Tied to us.
To the places we've been.
To the lips we've known before each other.
We tie ourselves to the clouds we hang over our heads.

From the very bottom
you seek to rebuild what started top-down
with the bricks that we tore from the walls years ago,
seek to block out a sun that reminds you
of something...
of something.

The birds of remembrance
their remnants persist
in the cracks of the hearts
that we try to frost over.

Who knows?
The hands may unwind,
but we never took photographs.

10/10/2005

Author's Note: Like yours, J.P., the themes in reverse order, my spin on the deal.

Posted on 10/11/2005
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