Wednesday, September 23, 2009

for translation

we lived in a city where roses were cheap;
they were humiliated, their thorns stripped away,
and yet you placed them at my feet.

"silence," you told me, "is not a promise."
i did not understand; now, i think that i might.
the air is too thick for the lungs to capture.
we need the noise to distract ourselves.


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