orgami's Diaryland Diary

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heart

press my palm against her chest
"why are your hands warm?"
I tell her they are always
warm its when their cold I
worry

I can feel the flutter of her
heart like a bird in a cage
steady in its flight

the sunlight falls through
the tree line stippling her
face

the honey bees are in the
flowers where soon they will
fly singular and spaced to
the hives

where the twilight will rise
like lavender

8:49 p.m. - 2011-05-24

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