Friday, July 31, 2009

Elsie failing, forgotten pixies

Everlasting, unceasing whisperings
tucked under waterfalls;
Phillipe told me, "The only way to ever know what He is saying is to drown,"
which is how my mother went, vying for knowledge aforementioned and etched into ivory bones.
If I press hard enough I can feel my rhythm,
but my eternity did not begin at my inception!

raepheldae hamastalde, kleamaere, holmedstarde

Elsie sees his form through the curtain,
but I am crying under the comforters, after kissing his head.
Expectant mothers are groaning in the night
but my stomach growls each time I remember fawning.
I desired to explain, time and time again, the fear I possessed that he would not return,
I screamed, "Phillipe, come!", but remembered the ancient trimesters.
A pile of skin and bones, a pile: skin, and bones.

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