the air is a cold knife against my skin
i breathe
and my soul sings
so alive
the tea
the toast
the honey
i have at this moment
and your words
are fire
all that matters


This entry was posted on Thursday, March 19th, 2009 at 2:01 amand is filed under poems. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.

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