this hand I hold
  chalked and eroding
  tastes of cardboard
  a generic pen
  Five white Fingers and then mine

  like a bonFire in snow
  searching for embers
  conFident it can melt
  yet, yet, yet, yet, yet
  your Finger moved today
  like a Fetus' Foot
  it slid across the belly of my palm
  while you lauGHed


A day that ends with a poem is a good day...

posted 1914 days ago