Hands of grace
I come undone
the smooth hand of
a dream slips inside
the tomb of me.
Rocks, slick with rain
skimming across puddles was
somehow suppose to remind you of me.
My scent kept alive inside the brown
spine of your books.
I love with a hot core intensity
raging religiously as February's
pale sun shines high, at faceless
G-d's set upon altars bereft of wrongs.
Hands enhanced
undone over those pebbles
we grind over.
Hourglass fragments under a barren tree
wafting fragrant branches...
Just a silly girl in her lingerie.
D. Claudia Ash
March 2005
Posted by poetry/muse6165
at 9:15 PM EST
Updated: Monday, 02/21/2005 9:36 PM EST
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Updated: Monday, 02/21/2005 9:36 PM EST
Post Comment | View Comments (1) | Permalink | Share This Post