The bark was rough against my back and
The rain danced tiny patterns on
My cheeks while you talked of
Indians running through mossy forests.
The tree loomed above our wet heads
Vertical shadows in the darkness and
Reminded me of natural umbrellas carried by
Mossy Indians running through forests.
I wanted to touch my drunken lips
To yours and let the rain run through
Closed eyelashes but you only spoke of
Running Indians through forests of moss.
Wet pineneedles stuck to our pantlegs and
You looked out into the rain above
The trees and past my heart where
Indians ran through moss-covered forests.
1998 revised 2003
Posted by crystallyn at May 18, 2003 09:41 AM | TrackBack