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Posted by Bluesy Socrateaser on Mon Mar 02, 2009 8:24 am
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Glow worms
<br />oxidizing cotton
<br />like iron,
<br />illuminating
<br />deep caverns
<br />in time.
<br />Smooth shiny legs
<br />tic-toc past the gazes
<br />as the patent finish
<br />clears the room.
<br />A woman clings
<br />to her Whitman Sampler
<br />while rolling
<br />a two-bit piece
<br />over her fingers.
<br />Her face rises
<br />to the occasional
<br />scent of ale
<br />passing through
<br />the fabric of the place.
<br />She turns with a fluid motion,
<br />her limpid pools
<br />full of swimming sensations
<br />that never made it to shore.
<br />Reaching out
<br />for a single grain of sand,
<br />her touch sends a
<br />ripple across the waters
<br />that lay between her coastline
<br />and a message locked within a bottle
<br />that holds the dreams of lovers.
<br />In the darkness of her sleep
<br />she reaches for the bottle,
<br />teasing it further away
<br />as it glances from her fingertips.
<br />The two-bit lost it's balance,
<br />and the Whitmans' were sampled out.
<br />
<br />I wonder if she'll ever see home again.
<br />
<br />I'll wait at the shore.
<br />Maybe a bottle will come my way.
<br />
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