Saturday, January 22, 2011

2 (seperate but untitled)

Time passes closely,
with footsteps small and hollow,
coupled laughter fills the moments
like yellow veins in a daffodil.
Small pops of quiet
make their slow release
over a smooth afternoon
of soft anecdotes and closed-eyed smiles.

I am what you pinch out from beneath your fingernails;
the empty feeling of a callous on your fingertip.
I am exactly what you say:
a wing-clipping villain
when I choose
between nothing
and pain.