Huddled Memories Grabbing The Reins Of A Lonely Good Bye On A Cold Yellow Porch...

I see your face through cerrated glass
Your eyes steer me away in some diplomatic refrain
The roots of your hands clenched tightly to my earthy shoulder blade
And as I hide behind these inky veins
I stumble out in the clumsiest contrition

The stars have never seemed more elusive or alone
And the leaves whisper their nostalic tales
Like those distant trans-sabine phone calls into the wee hours of the morning
It was just celophane over our mouths
And those hundreds of miles were mere thin cotton sheets between us

To be carressed by the soft scent of aquisition
To see the morning's clean light emitted from your eyes
To bare an indifferent sneer at restraints
And to be disconcerted at your ambiguous remarks
Well thats all these destitute insects yearn for

Stephen Frisco, you are all I adore.

by Audrey Stephenson

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