Saturday, January 2, 2016

Turning Asexual


A known stare
A husky voice
Doesn't turn on,
Any more than the murmur
Of clouds
On a post shower sky.
And tea tastes
Better than kisses.
Yesterdays seem light
Even when laden
With memory weights;
The present bears
The certainty
Of the dancing earth.
And futures smile
With the cold comfort
Of the morning snow.


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