Tuesday, July 27, 2010

Waiting for the shower

I can't sing, I tell you.
I can't hold a note,
balance it on my tongue or
even keep it safe in my hand.

It slips out, flat on the ground
I would trip
over it, I tell you.

At night, when the wind
performs, and my skin
applauds the clamor,
I miss you between my legs,
my one note, tuning fork legs,
humming with the wind's
silent blue tune.

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