marsh lane ode

sleepyarms, your stutter steps just lay me out sometimes: it's so easy to imagine you stepping this way or that and how beautiful it is to even watch you walk (as one gulps air who has drowned, nearly) and there's a subtleness to the things about you (a collection of hair falling into your eyes, a half smile, you look away so well when you talk to me) so things are moving along (breaking the sound barrier wasn't my forte anyway) and soon, the phone'll ring and it'll be you, a pitter-patter when you waltz to get a glass of water (your legs motions are so endearing) and i'v eyet to really dig through that collection of yours (bootleg heaven) but will, before the sun gets tired of coming up. (you're the who drops me to tired knees so often, worn, but waiting.)

2004-03-05 | 10:45 a.m.
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