grey smoldering
onto turning the phrases of paradise
the page linked inextricably
to a difficulty that is best left forgotten
bouncing back like a certain type of rubber
with dried flowers twisted in their own history
unwilling to render her broken edges
that have collected dust by now
the wind that blusters the warmth given her
by small, close quarters of tenderness
and the stars shine their own distance from the sun and earth
wearing a pitch of sound
repeating a will to power
in a voice light as flour
wet color to dry linen stretched tight as a drum
they hold much softer sounds than that of your breath
or the smell of my fingers
onto turning the phrases of paradise
the page linked inextricably
to a difficulty that is best left forgotten
bouncing back like a certain type of rubber
with dried flowers twisted in their own history
unwilling to render her broken edges
that have collected dust by now
the wind that blusters the warmth given her
by small, close quarters of tenderness
and the stars shine their own distance from the sun and earth
wearing a pitch of sound
repeating a will to power
in a voice light as flour
wet color to dry linen stretched tight as a drum
they hold much softer sounds than that of your breath
or the smell of my fingers
