The black shoes sit
Fresh with leather perfume,
The perfect polish broken only by a crease
In the centre of each sole's cover.
There was a silent bustle
About the house,
In which many a black fabric
Was cast from each wardrobe.
Sun melted, and became rain;
Departure time circled overhead,
A plane that was reluctant to land.
There were so many preparations
That had not been made
And nestled restlessly, still,
In my crevasses of guilt.
There was that lingering
Essence of thought too,
She's not gone
She's still here.
Droplets hung like glass rain
Upon the rims of my eyes.
I fell against the wall,
My hood inverted,
And a werthers' original popped onto the floor.
. 
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Comments
--
“Oh, yes, that’s SEXY.”
“I beg your pardon?”
I managed to get all the images on the first read, go me!
Ja, the usual. Amazing, as ever (and don't you dare deny it).
--
08 FEB 2005
the werthers' is the reference for the 'only one person', I'll explain when I see you if you want
--
08 FEB 2005
--
08 FEB 2005
but somehow, i hoped I would be that 'only one person'... *le sigh*
uh well, it was pretty obvious i wouldn't be
--
“Oh, yes, that’s SEXY.”
“I beg your pardon?”
--
08 FEB 2005
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