Thursday, October 23, 2008

You don't know what you love

but I know.

Everything about you
is bruised and

honey. Everything
you point with

points
toes. Points

to us. We were standing
on the side of some

mountain, somewhere,
and you said, in all

seriousness a manner
like yours composes;

has it ever been eyes? Is
anyone really

out there?
And up.

1 comment:

k said...

This is lovely.

It really is.