Tuesday, January 24, 2006

Fragile Flowers

In the ice and the muck, there is a plce for us; a garden of crystal blooms that tinkle in the gust of your whispers. This secret keep of silent longing and lost fear drips with liquid remorse. Here, I sing to your dreams and tend to your whimpers. Lend me your tears and I'll fall out of myself. I will wear your strumming ache on my breast as your sparkling shadow calls to my monster in this garden, our garden, of imaginary touch.

4 Comments:

Blogger two star general said...

I was just searching through blogs and found yours. Your writing is interesting I find it amazing how each poem is a bipolar of the one before.

9:26 PM  
Blogger ScarletSphinx said...

Walt Whitman would be proud, ya think?

7:40 AM  
Blogger Slain said...

a slime spanning two hearts, slipping, gripping, falling, sliding, grasping, scratching, slamming, falling..

orbs sealed shut with fire, steely wings recoil, umbrella, flutter, scrape..

12:20 AM  
Blogger ScarletSphinx said...

*wispy lashes and shy smiles*

5:18 AM  

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