by Kathy Ostman-Magnusen

Created on: February 26, 2007   Last Updated: May 14, 2007

I stroke her hair.
I mend her
again
despite her wild objections.

Defined by lines that did not match
she held herself closely
did not entertain streaks of light
river crossings
paths that led to lime green.

I walk past her sigh and find it to be my own.
Buckle down you stupid girl!
Consequences of moons that go unlocked
bring hues that grey up possibility.

I shook her.
I made her bleed.
Who did she think I was?

Her eyes looked up.
She asked for mercy
the kind that only I could give her.

Many a tormented heart is born out of passion
I stroked her hair.

I gave her the box unopened
with all the gifts inside
because I was the only one who could
and the only one there.

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