Open Poetry #47 |
Hair Stories |
Tomer Senior Member
since 2002-06-28
Posts 1168Michigan |
Her hair told stories that I had never had seen the way her skin could leave such solace in the way the sun raised down upon her She was between the long corn, blue sky and the draft that followed from the sea through the canary streets of Iona Her eyes like fire not untold by the wooden souls of the forest Showcased in the light To the light side of my right eye Sitting along, stories of the forgotten and scorned Her hair told stories the sun resting down on her |
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easy1 Senior Member
since 2010-05-22
Posts 1209Southeastern USA |
Haunting and brilliant, right down to the malapropisms. Plus, IOU for making me Google "Iona Canary"... From the diffused light of December blinks on a Tannenbaum. Shazam! |
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