I.
I am the word in your chest
you can't scrap from bone.
I am home with the lights low
and doors latched shut.
II.
I am the lettering of your name
etched electric in the brain.
I am a whisper of crab grass
with dandelion breath.
III.
At night ( ) distant stars,
a soft glow from years past.
You are the dreamer in bed
who wakes in the womb of amnesia.
IV.
I am reflection in glass
and water and stone.
You are (
) crack of dry dirt.
V.
These moments(
) written years (
) before your birth.
VI.
( ) are the yellow bruise (
)
I (
) the skin ( )
VII.
( ) light (
) does not travel.
( ) it remembers
all we have forgotten.
Jun 2, 2011
Jun 2, 2011 at 9:08 PM UTC
I.
I am the word in your chest
you can't scrap from bone.
I am home with the lights low
and doors latched shut.
II.
I am the lettering of your name
etched electric in the brain.
I am a whisper of crab grass
with dandelion breath.
III.
At night ( ) distant stars,
a soft glow from years past.
You are the dreamer in bed
who wakes in the womb of amnesia.
IV.
I am reflection in glass
and water and stone.
You are (
) crack of dry dirt.
V.
These moments(
) written years (
) before your birth.
VI.
( ) are the yellow bruise (
)
I (
) the skin ( )
VII.
( ) light (
) does not travel.
( ) it remembers
all we have forgotten.