till I own itA Poem by wolfshrew
my best times occur during the washing period;
while I soak long till the dirt does leave me, like it was never there to begin with. listening to a French song, that I cannot decipher- "On ne pense à rien, malgré ses blessures", I swirl water below my body to a merciless siren's call. I am the giant in her storm. je t'aime je t'aime je t'aime If a speck of dirt does lie beneath my feet, I feel it's presence like a boulder. I sit upon it just to cry and straddle till I own it. © 2012 wolfshrew |
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2 Reviews Added on March 7, 2012 Last Updated on March 7, 2012 Author
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