in my hands
at depth, you know searching, in a night
the language you speak, in times of us
loving, the naked words clinging, telling
truth in a bed, outside towns, made up of
days we missed, snow falling untitled
so I keep moments engraved in my hands
Poetry by kath
Read 666 times
Written on 2008-04-14 at 08:34
|
M Heathcote |
|
Rob Graber |
|
Kathy Lockhart |
