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harness.

Stamped: 26.1.09

There's a warmth in that hand.
A warmth filling every cubic inch.
Reaching and breaching the dead winter
air
is a warmth as such I've yet to know.

Whispering the solstice away,
the warm and humid air
defrosts my panes.

A commanding hand
and a strong wrist.
The seconds tick away on
the transient diadem
and all of history
and all of time
is you,
you and this warm winter night.

« Home
the fallow. »
punctual silence. »
give us this day our daily bread. »
On death. »
Eliezer. »
wow »
by proxy. »
I can still remember those cool days,yon days, whe... »
gravitational dilation. »
words, books, sentences, apostrophesare all punctu... »

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