There must be blood
Rushing to my fingertips
For my hands have ridges
Like little hills.
And the snow above -
The white, clenched knuckles -
Is a sign of restraint.
I must not let go.
There must be blood
Rushing to my brain
For my cheeks are red
Like a field of posies.
And the brook or stream -
The one trickling from my eye -
Is a sign of embarrassment.
I do not know what to say.
There must be blood
Rushing from me
For I am lightheaded - dizzy -
And you caused it.
And the red on your sleeve
Must be my blood - you've cut me.
(Maybe it's not blood at all.
But you have indeed cut me.)
still not sure about the last line.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
2 comments:
i actually really like how it is. that has to be the one you were telling me about the other night. and it is sweet.
yeah i agree with candance. great job.
Post a Comment