Friday, June 8, 2012


This is the song of my silence:
        Soft curls of an apology
        upon the ewe neck of a promise,
        whose whiteness is made of lies.
                 — Innocence do not nestle
                    in the crook of a dimple.
Garrisoned to an abbreviated existence,
    the life-span of a fading memory
    will outlast me.

No comments:

Post a Comment