Monday, April 5, 2010


Breath held,
your heat tempts, intoxicates;
brings news of another self
across the ocean of cool air;
an invitation to journey.

I thrive on these brief missives,
notes from places I won't visit.
Lush and sweet in imagination,
certainly darker,
concrete-filled in person:
so says the note I scribble
at the bottom of your postcard
before putting it away from sight.

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