Saturday, December 24, 2011

dipped in blood

music enveloped me in his black wool overcoat
the night so cold it turned our breath to smoke
he brought me soup and movies
and we kissed ferocious
in the white haze of the lights strung from my porch

music in his big black boots
went off to play for dance
while i sat hobbled waiting for his kiss
and then found power to raise and degrade me
with each thrust
until music saw my words
written in response to his
and corrected my mistake

i can only listen when i’m falling…
or in love
but i can always, always write
with a pen dipped in flowers
or in blood

1 comment:

  1. i sometimes wonder if music is a demon or an addiction. merry christmas francesca!