Tuesday, July 12, 2011

Black Swans

Empty hearts which lust for love
Silly things like misplaced doves.

These unfold in light and warmth,
falling, husks of far-gone pain,
calluses which melt in rain,
The sun now follows as I run north.

Sins and sorrows bent on pleasure,
on fullness grasped and grace by measure,
oh, frantic glances, peace desired.

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