roam the fingers, thin and light.
beguile by the brooks, chilly and frighted.
rust in trunks, ****** bells in hums,
greens they run, yellows the sun.
down the ripples, silent and long;
appear books, of language and song.
in the books, shall be love-
veiled beyond views
from branches I once sew;
the stains in the berries, the one in teas,
redden every morning, on laced napkins;
the love of ballet songs; in waves of faerie wands;
The cloaked mist, in time, of the faces I still want.
Dec 27, 2013
Dec 27, 2013 at 12:59 AM UTC
roam the fingers, thin and light.
beguile by the brooks, chilly and frighted.
rust in trunks, ****** bells in hums,
greens they run, yellows the sun.
down the ripples, silent and long;
appear books, of language and song.
in the books, shall be love-
veiled beyond views
from branches I once sew;
the stains in the berries, the one in teas,
redden every morning, on laced napkins;
the love of ballet songs; in waves of faerie wands;
The cloaked mist, in time, of the faces I still want.
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