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Swallows, like dark spirits, flicker about my feet a sudden blur of hurrying grace the whirr of beating wings like an assault from behind by angels
my pale angel monochromatic, like a black & white snap clear like ricepaper I want you to take care crossing the street
my edges have become thin and blurred my boundaries smudged I can no longer measure where your skin stops and mine begins
like a child, rising in the hot early hours to hastily unwrap Christmas presents
dreaming of ribbons and brightly coloured paper
© Stephen Cassidy, 1997 |
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My edges are smudged |
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poetry |
