aislingfwrites

In Uncategorized on April 5, 2012 at 12:42 pm

Your face is a placid ocean,
your mind an Atlantic storm
that sailors dread in their dreams.
My mouth is an open casket,
your tongue is earth and soil,
dust,
ash.
Together we speak rotted language,
drown in the confessions only silent irises can make to each other.
We wish for calm seas, unclouded skies.
We have no radio to listen to the shipping forecast.

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