Our lives begin to end the day we become silent about things that matter

Wednesday, November 26, 2003

Second Nature

The touch of my lips
to the nape of your neck
as you dream, of color,
of light and dark.
And phrases, glimpses
of your sentiment
float through memory
like puffs of dandelion
in flight, so difficult
to grasp within sleep,
second nature to cherish
in a place where those
thoughts are images
I hold to my heart.

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