Saturday, 16 April 2011

an unworthy poem, written in a worthy notebook

And you are,
A scarf, and things,
Blue and green with,
Streaks of acceptance.

And you are, a solid eye,
Staring with honest energy,
Placed across the couch in,
My mind.

And I am,
Wishing I could see your,
Scarf more clearly,
And see the weary inside it,
Scared of my pen and mind.

I'm a wolf, just,
A psychic vampire, strung out,
On the junk of emotion,

And you are,
So many branches of light,
If I could grasp it,
If I could just be a leaf.

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