Cracked Lines On the Surface of the Morning...
cracked lines on the surface of the morning
as I bleed the (night’s) phantoms onto a page
trying to settle the inconstancies
of unsolid corners
& console myself in the shape of a line
i carry the words you’ve spoken
etched into my softest skin
& the contours of your eyes
reflected forever in mine
you will know me
in another life
by my sweetest scars
& the words
for which
there is
no
voice
Copyright © Julie Forbush | Year Posted 2007
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