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Poem: Shuffle

The city is a tipsy lady
twisting her fingers
through her hair,
her bracelet the moon.

When she rises,
the streets sway
in half-time,
and I need to stop

thinking about you,
walking towards me
in a crowd, your fingers
twirling a pencil,

your face, the moon
rising and the streets
sag around you
and I can't stop thinking

the city is drunk
on your bare wrists,
more lovely than
the tendons of the moon.

If you scroll, the building seems to move . . .


















____________________________
Well, summer is officially here, and I'm not just talking about the solstice.  School is ending and I have no idea how regularly I'll manage to blog over the summer.

I'll still be working on Egregious and this week is actually a big week for this story.  So if you've been following the story at all, hop on over to egregiousbook.blogspot.com.  I'm not posting a teaser this week, I'll just leave you with the chapter's title: Death is a Lady.
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