Saturday, 8 March 2008

her hand



brushing my hair
bitter blades of grass
fragrance of wine
ages old
rising in the night
quietly quietly
mist
her hand resting now
open
on the other side of the looking glass
pale flowers
breathing low
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2 comments:

  1. swiss9 March 2008 at 02:56

    let's call it an exchange then.

    you and these and others. who speak mysterious languages. who open my eyes to other poetry. who drop beautiful images into my head. and let me see that other person who sometimes i forget to recognise.

    it's all good

    ReplyDelete
  2. Roxana10 March 2008 at 01:58

    ok, exchange :-)

    "e totul bine" it's all good - in one of those mysterious languages... and thank you.

    ReplyDelete

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