lingering whisper

Look, out of the shadows deep into the wells
I created in your eyes when they were empty
Never to speak of the smell of
Greed, or hope that
Echoes of bright crocuses used in the smelting
Rituals of all that celluloid
I have forgotten where it went
Now, left behind are traces of cotton
Ginger hair in a brush and an empty bottle

Wanting this posy i stepped back into the shadow
How your body reeked with my story
Instant gratification in my own existence
Slid down through the fastening of my
Pants and all that was left, was a word

Text: © J. L. Nash, 2010


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