Weaving Life
And ever has it been that love knows not it's own depth until the hour of separation ~Kahlil Gibran~
Saturday, May 30, 2009
A poem
Moments ... when your palms cup my thirst
your fingers swim in brunette currents
When the poplar tree whispers it's lullaby
When clouds blush crimson
When pomegranate kernels bleed
boundaries twist, turn, melt, drip...
into the ravines of your palms
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