The silver drops
cascade down.
Golden, rouge, sepia;
dry tornado in the
ally between the two
bars, on the
windows keeping my
eyes wandering the
landscape. Locked in
not escaping the cold,
kept in the grotto
with my Falling heart.
Waiting for the warmth
to spring ahead
before we will frolic
in the navy abyss
while the iced flakes
graze our hair and fill
the land with a
blank slate.
Nov 11, 2011
Nov 11, 2011 at 7:53 PM UTC
The silver drops
cascade down.
Golden, rouge, sepia;
dry tornado in the
ally between the two
bars, on the
windows keeping my
eyes wandering the
landscape. Locked in
not escaping the cold,
kept in the grotto
with my Falling heart.
Waiting for the warmth
to spring ahead
before we will frolic
in the navy abyss
while the iced flakes
graze our hair and fill
the land with a
blank slate.