They sing songs
Of desert gypsies
And chain smoking bulls,
Of mirages that kiss
Your throat
And linger quietly
Waiting,
While you quickly catch
Your crumpling breaths,
Drunken wisps
Of sandpaper snow
Flickering and coarse—
Palms warm to the touch.
Jan 15, 2014
Jan 15, 2014 at 3:59 AM UTC
They sing songs
Of desert gypsies
And chain smoking bulls,
Of mirages that kiss
Your throat
And linger quietly
Waiting,
While you quickly catch
Your crumpling breaths,
Drunken wisps
Of sandpaper snow
Flickering and coarse—
Palms warm to the touch.
