Whiteness, sheets washing out with the tide,
rain sweeping windows with light,
the swash of white headlights below in the streets,
white coiled within white like a shell
just turning to blush. And
a flush begins at your throat, and slowly runs
over your collarbone: angelfood
breathing what seeps from
slices of strawberry,
or the last light of a clouded sky
rising on white walls farther away
than the chance of seeing you ever ever again.
No comments:
Post a Comment