Thursday, December 8, 2011

There's that pinch, you know the one,
that takes hold as you stir.
No boiling water is going to warm it up
And you wonder if love has dissolved
and left a melting ice cube on the sidewalk
that you kick it around till it’s gone.
Roaming in the vicissitude of my moods.
Tomorrow morning there may be sun, yes there may.
For now we might as well enjoy the soup.

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