feet on the dashboard
hair locked up in its roots
our jazz on repeat
teeth gritted, all of this freedom
but still I'm committed
to any desire I make an emblem
to any other that has my soul tremblin'
its quite unknown what I behold
with you, him, or most singular, alone
the pretty joy I find
when my soles are evidence of home
and of every abandoned seed
this wind has blown
Monday, December 27, 2010
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment