Wednesday, May 24, 2006

Phaistos

soft clay whisper
burried under concrete dream city
and I can't hear your story
of a Greek beauty under olive tree
shade
or maybe warriors waiting
with gods and tides ahead

there's no way to wrap
my mouth around your sounds
but maybe history defeats itself
like thoughts lost in wine
every mystery in these moments
concealed
and we're just cut die pressed deep
nothing but immortal

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