Monday, February 23, 2009

Melancholy Day

when the faucet drips
like the constant dripping inside
of myself
and the cold water stains
my consciousness
I reflect where you are
how I was there once
and how I left my home
beneath your skin
Melancholy Day
good for tuneless violins
the softly humming memory
of moments tasted and
the dewdrops we swallowed
one early Tuesday morning last October
when it was warm
but getting colder.



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