June 11, 2012
By Anonymous

is it an insult to attempt, haltingly,
to transfer your essence
into the black type on this page,
with trepidation, faltering in my certainty?


the summer lightning flashes
in the eerie orange light
the dark thunder covers the world
and the rain is of blood.

summer might as well be winter.
i dream frozen stories that will never be told
nothing breaking through till
you thought i tasted like rain.


these memories of mine-
will they ever learn to die?
or do they slowly sink into our
skin and bones and tears-
and sighs?

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