Wednesday, February 5, 2014

Pulse

Hang my heart in a southeast corner
to catch the morning breeze.
You mind the wind, strumming its canopy 
with a contagious lament. I know
love is no private matter, more like 
a circus or Sunday parade. So 
let it feel brilliant and raise holy fuss,
you know where that can lead. 
We'll drift as this heart bongs on and on, 
a metronome echoing rubies.

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