04-29-2012, 02:20 PM
Prick of lips, smearing dye, sticks needles
through my spindled eye; in the darkness
I spin, a splendid gold thing. I spin.
In the day we sit happy. He and I,
opposite cups of tepid tea
under ever after weather,
clinking only as we stir.
How I miss hands and knees rough
from praying to the floors, calluses alive.
The indignity of hate feels less now,
less than the indignity of love.
Our chats are mild - hopesdreamswishes -
and my voice well hides the sounds of mice;
crawling, clawing, beneath the paradox
of one glass shoe.
The original thread and discussion can be found here
through my spindled eye; in the darkness
I spin, a splendid gold thing. I spin.
In the day we sit happy. He and I,
opposite cups of tepid tea
under ever after weather,
clinking only as we stir.
How I miss hands and knees rough
from praying to the floors, calluses alive.
The indignity of hate feels less now,
less than the indignity of love.
Our chats are mild - hopesdreamswishes -
and my voice well hides the sounds of mice;
crawling, clawing, beneath the paradox
of one glass shoe.
The original thread and discussion can be found here
It could be worse