Saturday, March 31, 2012

Our Early





You said,
They’ll never love me for my face, and I said, 

I will love your for your face.


And you lay your head in the bend 
of my arm and I told you 
the old reasons. You retched
the kind of moans one heaves 
in pain or tears. But you grew still.
I thought you slept - 
then,
thank you,
soft as dawn.

That was how we whispered 
when your skin was raw 
and blistered and your sleep so fragile 
it was was broken by 
a shaft of light.

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