3-24-14

In her arms he melted,
Hot like august sand-
She called to him in the rolling
Heather,
Yet he heard no words,
As her lips mouthed his name
In the silence of the woolen fog-
He treated every moment as if it were
The last-
Or the first*

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s