rain falls and her face smears, thunder lets her know that he is on his way. she unlocks the door, "knock in syncopations," she said. the wind howls in major 6th descents and only shadows play puppet games. pitter-patterings of yesterdays are umbrella terms to keep away the mess. staying dry and away from the storm is much harder when desire calls her out to play. puddles reflect her insecurities, and ripples fade away like thoughts unheard. but lightning strikes where darkest. she turns off the lights and waits, seeks.
(c) 2005 mai kozai
silence is also music. {12:30 AM}
the poet
mai sharona.
december 5, 1984.
davis, california.
a sucker for flowers.
