Sunday, January 25, 2009

a symphony

I wear my grandmothers' rings. And to
each, a significance. The gems are missing,
I find them stuck in the iris of your eyes. 
Glittering there, I try to take them and realize that
the extraction dulls them. The breaking
of a tiny thing, it stings your fingertips as it snaps

(the most romantic bit of pain). 

I look for you when I sleep; letting it fully settle 
upon me, soaking
in the denseness of you. Violin choirs when I hear
you breathing, like we're both ascending into
separate heavens. 

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