Hold my hand

23 03 2009
I don’t know how I feel about this one, it’s a bit too nice and happy. I mean, nice and happy for me, which still might be depressing. Baby steps.
We walk abandoned
in hollow halls –
marbled and empty –
our feet clatter
a timpani march
over the deaf ground.

Though night breathes
shallow and harsh,
and has always
at my hesitant heels,
your hitching knuckles
accompany me.

They are warmer
than any long
white afternoon
I’ve spent in the sun.




One response

26 03 2009

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