Monday, September 20, 2010

Wet Leaves and Smoke

Wet leaves and smoke are all we can see, when we try to pace lost laneways that make up me. If I wait a while to feel it come to place, it seems lost without a trace. If you held me or touched my hand the is not memory in this land. Sleep comes too easy when we only want to speak, i'm hoping for winter as all i feel is bleak. Daring to get closer I want even more.

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