Wednesday, November 28, 2007

a thief

night, splattering red across my windows, and we're
tired, this night and me, waiting, wearied down
by sour whiskey, twisty and dancing in tosses,
by turns

deceitful lover, is my night, false hour by hour
stealing minutes, and i feel it stalking, lurking
prowling, hoping to creep into my bed, but i
have no room there

i sing some small romances, don't i, while i am
living this life, surprised some times, by your
little nothings, forgotten in my shallow corner
darkly worn

and i don't know you, or did i ever know you,
i have my weakness for the thief who takes
my baubles, then slips away to leave them
every where

i fall bound, wrapped into my old thin bed
ragged pillows, blanketed by my father's
whispers, tied with memories, tied from
losing you
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