Coleridge

March 30, 2011 § Leave a comment

What is on your mind, sweet girl?
Where do you eat your breakfast,
Wash your hair, walk on your toes to
The end of the bed?

What do your eyes see as the
Sun rises, when it falls
Beneath the blossoming tree shape,
What does it leave behind for you?

Are your hands moving fast?
In gesture,
are they the wings of the
Albatross that landed around my neck?
Sweet girl, so cumbersome.

What is your gate like? Is it long or
Sharp and are you writing me
treaties in mores code on the sidewalk
with your footsteps?
Sweet girl, the illusionist.

Sweet girl, I could never even do a card trick.
You have evaded me with a single wave of my own right
Hand.

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