Friday, March 2, 2012

Standing in the Way

Here I am with
The silence of a wall
Without a fly
With eyes like ice cubes in sand
And the fragrance of a gavel
My only plea
Is a sway with your direction
I'm concrete
At first
But melting under
The heat of the moment
I drain to your feet
Where the cold air rests
Once it dies off of your tongue
As I beg you to stay
And you'd beg me the same
But my feet are nailed
To the tile under the door

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