Tuesday, March 27, 2012

There is nothing certain, only this

I took a photograph of you
then held it in my hand
and could feel your body
when you were not there
and I was resting my head
on a before
that was washed away
by waves
that left me lost.

You are my North
and there is nothing else.

1 comment:

  1. I know poems are to be interperated in different ways, but this has only 1 meaning. meaning it is a dead poem. flat stuff pal

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