Monday, September 7, 2009

the end of the summer. (bishop in the light.)

the fountain's come back on.

i went there tonight, really,

i've only just returned,

and there was some

distant woman's perfume

haunting the air, tempting

me down to the water's edge,

and laying me to sleep upon

the rocks.

our shadows grow and shrink,

caught in the light of passing cars.

i grasp your hand.

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