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For anon.

December 6th, 2005 (12:54 pm)

'Your syllables
they are still on the tip of my tongue
rolling around like pearls
smooth and perfectly sphered,
cold and sweet to the tastebuds
but indigestible

I'm swimming across the breath
of years, taking my right turns and
leaving what's left to yesterday's
cinders, and the ash-greyed hopes
they cherished another day
I know was for nothing.

We dived, heartfirst.
Touched depths and
charged toward the watery sun,
floated in weightlessness. Drowned
in our immersion.

In our best days
we were killing gods
of paradise.'

- In our baptism

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Not true that my interests flit from one to another.
Poetry is soul.

Comments

Posted by: verbalSUICIDE (black_juturna)
Posted at: December 6th, 2005 06:01 am (UTC)

Poetry is soul.

Word.

Posted by: JV (drag0nette)
Posted at: December 6th, 2005 01:12 pm (UTC)

^word 2.

2 Read Comments