Magnetic eyes broken
only by cracks in
the mirrored wall.

Limp on the landing:

Drained

Empty

Which way does one go to?
She is dark, deep,
young in frame
ages in mistakes
fading self- portrait

She is languid,
her movements drowned beneath a tide of
what was.
With thoughts
scraping
itching
in reluctant skull.
They force her head around,
with a dull pop of bone,
until all she sees is behind her
and her feet, clothed in tatters,
shove onward through sullen seas.

Empty:

hands and

fingers and

bones and

hearts.

Steetlight Midnights

Midnight, tuneful wanderings

streetlit, moonlit sighs.

Her heart pitches gently

at the humor of his eyes.

He is inconceivable,

dizzying in his cologne.

His tiny twilit turnings

are burned within her soul.

Posting

I don't have many words for how I feel but I think I'll sum it all up with some nice pictures for you :)

I've been reading through your blogs and I keep realizing how much I wish you all lived near. It would be lovely, wouldn't it? If we all knew each other. But, of course, we don't. There are some of you who live a few states away but

that's still very far. :( Ah well, we all get along fine here, don't we? In our little secret blogger lives, scaling the web and shrinking the world around us.

That's all I have to say, I suppose, here's the post for you!

xxx

You are the shining essence of blue

silver-tipped dove wings

flashing.

Downy white clouds to fall into

the curling wisps of what could be.

x