Sunday, February 12, 2012

mixture #10

Her lips unfurl and her mouth is a flame.
I am aflame. The advice you gave
is what you couldn't follow.
In Paris, the news cut in for a celebrity death:
Somebody died of bonheur.
I am dead of night and you can be morning.
This mourning is convex and a little warmer
than forecasted. It would be.
Her lips unfurl and her mouth is a flame.

No comments: