Sunday, April 1, 2012

My Damsel Breathes Fire

Her voice makes
songs like wisps
of smoke
pirohuetting in tandem
with the heat of her
breath. Her tears
make moments
in memoriam;
No memento mori.
I listen inside
to her. I listen
outside of her.
And to the feelings
bestowed of her
my words are cold
and faceless marble
slabs of injustice
but touch her still.
And when my damsel
breathes fire, my hands
create ashes.

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