the hole is seething
hot to touch
the crevasse where I laid you down

left to fester
beneath drifting snow
I ran, whilst you froze

when you woke
in the heat of the sun
mute and unashamed
to feel the rain wash down
every inch of skin,
cleanse you of my taint
you supposed that I'd kept running

instead I took me to my bed
dreamt a statue made of gold
laid her down between my broken arms
and painted her your face

when we met again
you were arctic mist
I a duststorm on the horizon
we made a single storm
but never touched

just moved on and broke ground
elsewhere

09/16/2007

Author's Note: please read Trisha De Gracia's new poem. it's been so long since I've had the pleasure to read her words.

Posted on 09/17/2007
Copyright © 2025 J. P. Davies