Saturday, January 1, 2011

Whisper

I said, I don't know what
I mean. I thought
you would understand the way
I understood while writing every
word, painstakingly, full of
who I am, pen pressed hard to
paper, heart pressed into you.
Perhaps I have imagined you
into existence, formed you
in my mind, fashioned you
out of ethereal pulp, wrote
professions of love that you are
now surprised were supposed
to be said by you.  Maybe the
memory is where we really
dwell; maybe what happens
outside us is the pale reflection
of truth.  I put the gown on
in my dream and danced.

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