Tuesday, August 26, 2008
Poetry Fusillade, pt 2: Dusk
His fingers enmesh
Her fine, soft hair
Lightly reaches
The skin beneath.
Lays her back
Upon the sheet
Settles himself,
Gazing down.
Now, touches her face
The cheek and chin
This one last time,
A life well lived.
Her fine, soft hair
Lightly reaches
The skin beneath.
Lays her back
Upon the sheet
Settles himself,
Gazing down.
Now, touches her face
The cheek and chin
This one last time,
A life well lived.
