TRESPASSING.
6/27/10
In
summer’s breath we hold still,
Frozen
like deer,
On the tracks
of obscurity.
An early
July sweeps the air aside;
Compassion
moves
In
nitetime fog and morning dew.
And while
the little rabbits run,
We
breathe together,
Heavy
like the rain at midnite:
Seeking a
Forever to hold onto,
Or a
taste of the intimate.
But when
the trains won’t come,
Your
hands fall numb.
With the
chain of your necklace
Tangled
in my hair, like a misled catch,
I sink
into these sheets
Alone
again.
© BLAYKE MORROW, 2010
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