is tangible
a starry liquid
and we float
with just minutes on the clock
and your silver nerves branching
glowing synapses blooming in the sunlight
Ra screaming in your eyes
just as Orion dried them
the parralax of stars
shining in your cornea
and some day faded
all the hair we hold
will dance with a bit of helen's dust
the sunset crashing scalding
in to the last night
but now they constrict
and the morning roasts,
the song of sweet grass dreaming...
No comments:
Post a Comment