the reciever smelled like coffee beans grounded.
and the black sky was slow at first but reflected now at the bottom of the tin or the reflection i was in.
down to the warts on my heart- i was cold.
... warmed by your voice
waltzing down the yarn of your telephone cable.
the comb of your voice sweetened by the honey of your laughter.
it's good talking to you again.
casting grace on every shooting star.
a book of matches and two of them gone.
there is silence on the night around me.
and I confuse the smoke of the cigarette with the exhaled air.
I remember you like the february snow longs to be ice cubes in july lemonade.
and the black sky was slow at first but reflected now at the bottom of the tin or the reflection i was in.
down to the warts on my heart- i was cold.
... warmed by your voice
waltzing down the yarn of your telephone cable.
the comb of your voice sweetened by the honey of your laughter.
it's good talking to you again.
casting grace on every shooting star.
a book of matches and two of them gone.
there is silence on the night around me.
and I confuse the smoke of the cigarette with the exhaled air.
I remember you like the february snow longs to be ice cubes in july lemonade.
