Tuesday, March 12, 2013

The smoke, from you

Am I beating for the both of us?
Pushing your blood as well as mine?

You are infinite in yourself.

I will not hold you in the palm of my hand,
For fear of you slipping through my fingers.
I lay you on my chest.
Hear this heart that lies beneath you.

Just as the moon paints my window,
Venus brushes your cheek-
and s i g h s with the contour of your bone.

I feel as though I am nothing,
But still I cast a shadow.
Is the shadow of a ghost, not a ghost itself?

I am smoke.

Never to be brushed by gods.
Never to be painted by a satellite.

But I am smoke.

And will carry you as high as your flame burns and bids me to.

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