Sunday, March 24, 2013

seed on a windowsill

she will sit
in the eggshell white halo
of the morning
and find the number of scars on her
greater than her bills
but still

she'll complain
about her middle
thinking her weight gain
is just the refrain of bad luck
found after good times at happy hours
but still

she will cover mirrors
with her mind and mourn her past frames
but i wish she knew
part of my resurrection
began when my mouth uttered her name with honey
but still

the love i have for her
waits on her windowsill.

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