Friday, February 25, 2005

my red headed death

the weight of your words are etched in my heart.
thick solid lines.
I used a blow torch. to burn them there.
its always been you. didn't you know?
we don't need forts because we have a bed built upon a skyscraper.
tall jutting plates of glass. a steel frame to support the weight.
suspended amoung an atmosphere; two celestial bodies
fighting each others gravitional pull.
I knew when I first saw you that my life would never be the same.
no one holds me up like you,
your hands replacing my bones.
your heart replacing my own.

no its always been you.
who makes those lines burn.

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