Your House
By bird_of_passage
Wed, 29 Sep 2004
- 663 reads
You're spitting light.
I hold your boy,
Behind my breast.
You're fused,
You bend,
Into my will,
To be inside,
Inside the boy.
Inside of me.
Above my head,
I hear you coming.
The sycamore helicopters,
Spin through my lashes.
It smells of fire in this room.
Embers of air,
The nights you breathed,
The names you carved,
Your early seeds,
Start a puddle at my feet.
They ripple; singing songs for journeys,
That I'll never make with you.
I hold your boy,
My stone untied,
Your boy has gone,
To sleep inside.
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