the nothing that happened
2010-05-08 | 9:57 p.m.
i lay my weary head to rest on soft cut blocks of pine. the one I love is faithfully creeping up from behind. in dreams I often see his face- his countenance is hid. the cold of time memorial, the heat of blood and skin. swiftness owning dignity- that gravity oft lends- relinquishes the vim of love that�s only his to end. My head on soft cut blocks of pine The axe�s axis clouds his face. Sleeping in shadows of the arm That brings the swing from god to nape.
work on your management skills
| promote
|