there is no

feeling to this summer in february. the plant that promised good karma & salvation, died during christmas vacation. you were too far away to hear it. the newest revelation returns hands & palms to righteous owners. psalms we repeat to replenish the smooth of bodies the soft of souls. old. we are far younger than we pretend to be, older than we would wish to be if we still believed in wishes. cold. we kiss on a strictly business basis. but now you are too far away to face it. time turns us to stone. (for gavin).

1 comment:

Bobby Malone said...

I wish I could make you something as nice as this poem.

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