08-26-2010, 11:43 AM
The voices come every week.
Bless thee. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
I’ve come to know this well,
like the high pitch of my heart,
droning and eager to fly.
I try sometimes, stretch;
paper-drag against my flesh
as hands baptize
in hollow fragrance.
They melt and my wings fold,
pious and freshly laundered
under icy light.
Everything is cold, I sing back.
Nothing lives in the cold.
Bless thee. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.
I’ve come to know this well,
like the high pitch of my heart,
droning and eager to fly.
I try sometimes, stretch;
paper-drag against my flesh
as hands baptize
in hollow fragrance.
They melt and my wings fold,
pious and freshly laundered
under icy light.
Everything is cold, I sing back.
Nothing lives in the cold.
PS. If you can, try your hand at giving some of the others a bit of feedback. If you already have, thanks, can you do some more?