Telling my troubles to the horses head on the wall.

Wednesday, March 17, 2010

In progress...(on my morning drive)

Your eyes are the color of the sky before the storm,
when all the air is both ominous and safe. 
A world in silent anticipation,
 like a lover under the lash
 never knowing when the lighting will strike.
 In hushed tones, you tell me I belong to you.
Foolishly, I believe that you are mine. 

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