Sunday, April 17, 2011

hair like feathers


We close our eyes, stinging from tiredness, bright with exhaustion and joy. Lodged in our throats, caught in chests, trapped behind teeth; the first gray rays of light wash over us, not as soft as your fingers on the skin of my shoulder. It is a quiet love, a love of bursts of laughter and no words. A love of lips of noses, love of eyelashes, your love, mine. The shadows of the year grow longer- we are stretching thin towards the close and we come back.

1 comment:

  1. Beautiful words..
    And I so love the image of the unmade bed with the photographs hanging over it. So intimate...