"The desert bears only a scathing sun, and nothing more."
"What about mirages?"

Friday, January 14, 2011

Voices.

Her voice is
breathy
like wind
caressing
chimes
that sing
careless jingles
on my
front porch.

- - -

His voice is
a pounding hammer
punching a nail
bruntly
through
dry wall.
Posted by at

2 comments:

"Write with our backs to the wind and our faces to the hard, bleaching sun."

Subscribe to: Post Comments (Atom)