Two weeks and three days ago, I was beautiful. Now I'm not so sure.


nine.

she couldn't decide
which made her the
happiest:

was it
his chin
resting on the crown of her head
and his breath in her hair
and his hands
threading
up
through
hers?

was it
his tight, deadly
fist all softened by
his smile after
ten long weeks?

or was it
just
the dogwoods?



Words by MiVidaDeEpílogos.
Read 646 times
Written on 2006-05-15 at 02:28

Tags Dogwood  Trees 

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PoeticProcrastination
I love this one. I loved it when I first read it, and I still love it.

(I haven't been beautiful in a hell of a long time.)
2006-05-15