Sunday, October 24, 2010

Rouge Danube

Lazarus come rising at my flesh-hold door.

Lips parting. Face askew.

Teeth touching teacups.

His name a shade of rouge Danube.

We are standing in the deadfall.

We are gathering heart strings.

We are plucking eyes.

When our friends find us we tell them

The spring will likely kill you, but

He's lying. I'm lying, too.

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