Sunday, January 19, 2014


I weave my fingers though
Each strand hair
In open awe,
The touch of it lingering
Like feathers,
And seeps deep in me
Some brew of tea
I can’t relieve
this touch drawing
stiffening in me
until like an old piece
of crockery dropped
I shatter into a million
Pieces all of them me
Each piece scrambling
To put myself back
Together, always waiting
For the next chance
To weave my fingers
In those strands
And do it all again

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