orgami's diary

orgami's Diaryland Diary

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my hundred eyes

that trick
with the flicker
rust on a
zipper

hair and there

its the half day
wander

crowded coffee
houses and grass
fed gardens

broken ramparts
where the street
starts

ends
dead

been forever too
the water
hear that wind blow
those waves crash
their spray lash

where is my face
these sunlit
pages ask

only fingers
speak
pens look
wrists listen

its you i want
i can touch you
in the hall of
mirrors

i felt your hand
there once
inside

reached through
my chest
and pulled out
the yesteryears
scars

you spoke the octaves
of desire
stitched my wounds
with your tongue

i was just a ticket
buyer

meant nothing
meant everything

9:40 p.m. - 2007-05-08

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