we pick in random
in a mirrors blanc
through the looking glass
morning light - or the moon
I ask your closed lips
for a direction
or the cellos tune
your hands tight
playing rachmaninov
the movment never found
berries in a garden
red or orange
the light is gone
so we pick in random
our ways - hoping
love is found
a kiss and so
in a mirror blanc
words written
Poetry by kath
Read 955 times
Written on 2009-01-27 at 00:13
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