three hundred
thousand mountains
of eraser dust
unable to capture
eyes like those
imperfect lips
(i like it that way)
in a sky unmatched in
three hundred
thousand years
of revolving
in a breathless
fish tank
of fireflies
a moment so long
(i felt myself grow)
it hit
that a living beathing
forest
forced into
three hundred
thousand sheets
of chemically treated
possibility
could not capture
a moment that
belongs to two
by one
three hundred
thousand piles
of eraser dust
i would know
ive tried
Copyright 2003 Crazy_Dave
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/748/17078 on Sunday July 06th, 2008 04:27 PM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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