Sunday, May 13, 2007


Sky turns an amazing shade of blue
and though I've dreamt this six times
your shillouette as you make breakfast
is the only reality I want to accept.

Cerulian skies, but your eyes have
become the standard for all the hues.

Ink colored hands over paper white skin,
unable to tell whether horizon or sin
I can breathe this moment.

And I wonder, out there
what the sea is up to.

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