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| >> Static Item >> Poetry >> Arts >> ID #1397305 |   |
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The drive where snow tracks lead to home--
to red car chrome. I melt with ice, sweet paradise. The cooled wind fancy night to dream claims but a beam. Or then in fire and flesh desire, Will world's end come to pass this way . . . a bright, calm day? Or then in fear, I'll lend an ear.
© Copyright 2008 Feather Duster (UN: secretvick at Writing.Com).
All rights reserved.
Feather Duster has granted Writing.Com, its affiliates and syndicates non-exclusive rights to display this work. |
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