Michael Munas (michaelboy) wrote,
Michael Munas


While I was sleeping last night
your hand left a certain print on my chest
Yet this was no injury or even a mark of duty
but much more as the turning of warm soil
in soft fields up to the breath of sky

Such reveries grow desirous of all ends
extending for years as gathered linen might
but never consumed for the sake of convenience
and given more, to the remembrance of you
softly among the din of drunken noise and music
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