Your hands used to cover me

from the gashing of the wind

from the surging of tides

and from the thunders of the night.

They never miss to collect my bones

dotted amongst the ruins of my indiscretions.

But I guess forever is hard to hold

the wind cannot be stopped from where it is going

just as the warmth of your hands

like a ghost they turn cold

Author's Notes/Comments: 

written 19 Jan. '08

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