Sunday, April 07, 2013

MALACHITE MURDER




Malachite beads
Now you circle me
Where hands might someday be

The hands of a man I have yet to meet
The hands of a woman I have already seen
How am I to know

Who could break my breath
With just one stone death grip
Flesh on flesh as green on green

The night falling or day rising
In a foreign bed or a lonely station
By striated land or by swirling sea

Malachite beads
Now you circle me
Where hands might someday be

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