My butterflies are getting out.
under your eyelids
it’s not me hogging hands,
ocean eyes.
I’m counting back a different clock’s hands
to fix all the time I thought otherwise.
The floor turned mirror
but I can’t see what you mean,
tapt på havet.
Words intrigue me and
I wish you liked to share.
Du og meg.
Maybe someday lille venn.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
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