les pauvres cœurs


Wednesday, May 7, 2008

Vortex

housed in stars
your eyes shine
like the silver river
on a full moon's night
your skin in the back
of the car
I am wretched
and you are holy
I am drowning
and you are air
when you go, I cling
in a desperate sense
to your scent left
on the seat,
become a ghost.
I drift.
I
drift.