Squat
February 23, 2009
This nebulous caress sits squat and shade, between the fade and different rhythm. Under broken hands fold, untold as certain spots still stain, tracked down the line and rain or shine.
All collect to meet them on stares and stares and fit to be tied, selected to be seen. Middled by now and been and here comes the rain again…and the shine.
As clouds, we leave, on stairs.
