Saturday, January 3, 2009

Summer Ends

All you know are violins, gold poems of dust,
And starving on the seeds of saddened fruit.
And the stale sky kisses your eyes goodnight,
As you sleep in your grandfather's Sunday suit.

With vinyl spinning coldly and her hand laid on your chest,
You sing the Cold War requiem and seduce her.
And winter's held at bay by fingers tirelessly strumming,
Her eyes no longer longing as they once were.

And I have taken sick again,
The long night like a dear old friend,
The strumming ends and welcomes in the winter.

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