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Your skin glows like a polished kumquat.

Your heart blossoms cold as the carrot in my

vegetable crisper, in the purest hope of spring.

My heart follows your harmonica voice

and leaps like a startled sugarglider at the whisper of your name.

As the evening floats in on a great bat wing

I am comforted by your ice

that I carry into the twilight of forests and hold next to my heart.

I am filled with hope that I may dry your tears of tar.

As my big toe falls from my sock into the chill night air, it reminds me of your touch.

In the quiet, I listen for the last blat of the day.

My frenzied heat leaps to my glove.

I wait in the moonlight for your secret parking meter

so that we may strike as one, cheek to elbow,

in search of the perfect, magnificent, purple and mystical glass of shiraz.

COMMENTS

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ThothLestat
19:31 Jul 21 2009

this enwarmens my inner eggplant.

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birra
21:13 Jul 21 2009

And inbiggens the spirit like the sonata of the gold fish.

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Morrigon
14:26 Jul 22 2009

Passionate parmesan!!!

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MysticMoon
13:35 Jul 29 2009

:)

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Requiem
23:40 Jul 27 2011

"I listen for the last blat of the day." -- Heh. =D



This is very fun!

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Nekirena
02:26 Feb 11 2012

You should take up writing again.

In fact, I demand it.

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