Wednesday, November 30, 2011


it's cold in the blue truck
on the dark streets
with the hot tears
falling on a sleeve that
isn't yours

and your breath
like smoke
blasting frozen air with silence
while lungs
are screaming
of how they
hate to need my
love. . .

so when our hands
make their
heavy night,
to rest together
on the leather

and mouths have hushed
the dagger thrusts
at tender trust

it's then we must
remember what
a gift

forgiveness is

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