Thursday, September 2, 2010

Memory

By: eaa1118 on Sep 2, 2010
Any minute large suns rise
on the pores of my skin

I wish you’re here
tracing the solid riddle to my lips

With the fresh bark of a kiss
which dries and undresses in the deserted village

Of dream, here where the spoken
answers first rose without bodies

Stating your soul
http://authspot.com/poetry/memory-27/

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