09 October 2009


I always picture them whispering
cool chants of time 
into the voided fingers of my hair.
I only stare as the ache shakes
a sweet-bitter milk from my head.
The smell is like a sad friend
drunk with rain.

PROMPT: Magnetic word tiles selected on the basis of what appealed to me that day. (I have LOTS!) Since the day I wrote it WAS an anniversary, that also became part of the prompt. 

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