the newspaper you held over your head, tightly. the fat droplets that shook off of it, moistening the collar of your shirt.
we sit inside, we are surrounded by thunderstorm, brought to us on angry winds reacting to moody circulation. a lick of wet hair hangs over my nose, your eyelashes glisten. your eyelashes. moments are frozen, moments are popsicles, and you are a frosty monarch. and somewhere, warm waters are colliding, only to diverge again. the seed we planted once, which, by drips from the end of your nose, turned into a leafy tree. -bronnie _______________________________________________ Five7Five mailing list [EMAIL PROTECTED] http://www.pairlist.net/mailman/listinfo/five7five
