Sunday, November 24, 2013

a fragile cusp










negative space
white ice-silver-smooth
like an echo …
an echo in winter
hollowed of all green & boldness
twined & waiting on the fragile sureness of you
a petaled complexity
vesseled by channeled hands of trust &
dressed in tea-length-edwardian melancholy
no, not melancholy ! 
that is blue
smelling of wild mushrooms, merlot & november's sky
this is merely ...
white ice-silver-smoothness
tasting of first snow upon my tongue

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