upstairs the little white ivory keys
in the dust of shattered crystal, they
call “please, please” and dust falls
from everything we erased
and the color in the center of a
waterfall, it grows on you, you
exhale no smoke, your heart
could heat the school
the finger on the clock
lifts to play rows of notes, and
tritones in jade, pages of murder
in the halls of the heart and
angelina jolie’s lips, dresses
made of sunny water on
the curve of her hips
and sliding down soft heather hills
to the trees, a faint
surprise, bloody knees—felt in
felt-tip pen, but we
will never be here again
Laura va être Eve…le coeur va être à la main…if never again…?
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2 comments:
you enchant me.
(the code for this post was "hipplo". haaaaah).
the thing is, my dear, i am too frequently rendered speechless by your eloquence and thus rarely have something worthwhile to comment.
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