sleeping in sanctuary
"There’s no such thing as autobiography, there’s only art and lies"
Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Beneath the indian summer sun
My skin wishes for the shadow of you
Standing above me; summer strands
Flicking stringy shadows across
My washed out, squinted eyed face.
Beneath the warmth of this day,
The salt on my skin dies to be tasted.
Crouched above me, flushed moist lips
Make me feel like a summer snack;
Hot trembling skin, smelling of autumn.
September 26, 2007
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