Sunday, February 18, 2007
Soft Knives
The short walk to the gate
Laughter falls like petals before our steps
Once again we are made of gestures in the dark
I do not wait too long
Given air your laughter answers
Your open lips meet mine
Soft knives change me
I remember the taste of your mouth
Hands on your sides your face
A breaking away
Only voices in the dark
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