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my glove

one night of rain
leaves and light
sucked into puddles,
the road weaves in
wet, sleeve myself
into it.
dreams of red scarves
tailing into wind, the search
for us feels frivolous,
your gems glitter among
headlights, and my hands
disconnect, sleeves again.
i eel, you water,
and i think of salt
and swallows.  
we find ourselves in an alcove-
that real thing of breathing,
tastes less than those silts of
dreaming, finding warmth in
just being.
i said something and the wind
took it, you smiled though and i could see
my life curl, loving you
shared gold, watching the trees
grow old.
its when i close my eyes,
and the rain pounds,
that i seem to lose you
score myself blue for you.
lose my hands to the frost,
and you will pick them up and
sleeve them for me,
and in the warmth of your touch
they spark, and in the
poem i can't write
i will bleed slow
and steady words
of love
and let them sail
on the ocean.

25 Jun 11

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stunning. beautiful. thank you!! F
 — unknown

line 2 is my only complaint.

i need not say anything more, do i.
 — jenakajoffer

 — unknown


perhaps more than just L2 to complain about, yes? feels kind of fat to me.
 — DeformedLion

goddamn you.
 — jenakajoffer

when i first read this it felt like it was written for me.

that's what makes such a good poem.
 — jenakajoffer