tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26278118694590071882024-03-08T04:15:43.796-08:00Morning (Sonnet XXVII)The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.comBlogger1125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2627811869459007188.post-75649983413905634752012-02-18T11:42:00.009-08:002012-02-18T12:28:23.513-08:00<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Table of contents</span></strong><br />
<br />
Naked you are simple as one of your hands;<br />
Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round.<br />
You've moon-lines, apple pathways<br />
Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat.<br />
<br />
Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba;<br />
You've vines and stars in your hair.<br />
Naked you are spacious and yellow<br />
As summer in a golden church.<br />
<br />
Naked you are tiny as one of your nails;<br />
Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born<br />
And you withdraw to the underground world.<br />
<br />
As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores;<br />
Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves,<br />
And becomes a naked hand again.<br />
<br />
--Translation by W.S. Merwin<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Naked you are simple as one of your hands</span></strong><br />
<br />
esta es la verdad: ¿cómo la mano<br />
encaja en la mía, que mi piel se quema<br />
de su tacto, la forma en que se pierden<br />
en el otro y es el hogar.<br />
<br />
The last table is taken. You nod when asked if I can join you. <br />
No glance. No words. You are engrossed in a book of poems. <br />
I am thinking of summer, blonde fields, the sun a burning ember<br />
in a deep blue sky. My eyes drift up when you turn the page. <br />
I count one, two, three times when the page is turned back to <br />
re-read. I imagine you are sad. Sad in a weary it is time to wait <br />
again way. My mind drifts to snatches of poetry memorized in <br />
school. There’s a couple at the next table, in their sixties, <br />
dressed like they are coming from church. <br />
<br />
In love yet, they share their space in comfort. She lightly <br />
touches his hand when he says her name. Smiles at me and I <br />
know they believe we are together. I want to wish it true. Your <br />
sleeves are pushed up, lips a thin brushstroke of red. I ask you <br />
the time; an inane question. I am not going anywhere. <br />
Don’t need to be any where. Don’t want to be anywhere but <br />
here. All my destinations are unplanned, bent. The road <br />
unmapped, filled with potholes, every turn is crooked and <br />
sharp. We listen to the impatient shuffle of feet from <br />
customers lined up, barely aware of the low murmur of <br />
conversation. The background music is Dylan. I know what <br />
<br />
I want the answer to be: You tell me how to catch fire, how to <br />
hold the spark in the palm of my hand. You tell me how to live <br />
with ashes and dust. How you want to teach me to rub the stain <br />
from a crucible, polish it, hold it to flame until my breath turns <br />
to smoke. You tell me everything I am thinking is true. That <br />
aqua blue is the color of sincerity. That shyness is a refuge, <br />
desolation a virtue. The café is empty. Street lamps flicker, <br />
the city struggles to stay awake. We are unnoticed. I study the <br />
curve of your mouth, want you to feel the weight of loss; <br />
consider the heft of grief, its every angle and bend. I want to <br />
know how it feels to get lost in the motion of you moving <br />
within me; that feeling of being home.<br />
<br />
this is truth: how your hand <br />
fits in mine, how my skin burns <br />
from your touch, how we get lost <br />
in each other and it is home. <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Smooth, earthy, small, transparent, round</span></strong><br />
<br />
Estamos todas las cosas movido por el color;<br />
obligado por las cenizas y el polvo, a la izquierda<br />
transición a la competencia, junto<br />
<br />
You are asleep. I study you. Your hands smooth, <br />
your lips slightly parted, the earthy scent of sex <br />
lingers. I can not imagine night without your body. <br />
I want the future to wait and wander back to fall <br />
then winter to spring to summer and back again. <br />
Back when there was the not so accidental brush <br />
of hands, a kiss in the backseat. Coffee growing <br />
cold, the nervous drum of fingers on the table. <br />
The sun drops its head we both wonder aloud <br />
thoughts better left alone but we’re together now. <br />
Five more minutes becomes five more minutes. <br />
There is a slow dance with low music. Bare feet <br />
shuffling on carpet The bang of a radiator and quiet <br />
tap tap of rain. You write your number on a coffee <br />
shop business card. Smile then tell me to call, pick <br />
up your book and leave. I hope you glance back. <br />
Tell myself I will play it cool if you do, pretend <br />
not to notice. The CD changer shifts from Sara <br />
Vaughn to Etta James; Imagination. Lights dim, <br />
you become a shadow, transparent in the hollow <br />
of my memory. That card is still in my wallet; <br />
stuffed between my driver’s license and an over <br />
drawn check. I know the number by heart, ink <br />
faded to gray, almost unintelligible. <br />
<br />
We are all things moved by color;<br />
bound by ashes and dust, left<br />
stranded together <br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">You've moon-lines, apple pathways</span></strong><br />
<br />
Realizamos movimientos debajo de las sábanas<br />
blancas como la nieve. No es el toque de una mano <br />
a la cadera, se desliza entre los muslos de la pierna, <br />
para esta noche somos los amantes.<br />
<br />
breasts that fit perfectly in my hand, hips curve<br />
into mine. Your body lithe and tawny, you are <br />
like the sea; forever, vast and open, a sanctuary,<br />
my home. The bed is unmade, we are undone, <br />
<br />
you break silence with a breath and become <br />
the sky; dark blue and even, smooth against <br />
rough clouds. The bedspread is forgotten on <br />
the floor, leg shifts over leg and every new <br />
<br />
shadow is another touch, another prayer. <br />
We feel the weight of knowing, we are <br />
gravity, we are complete, deliberate.<br />
<br />
Palm against palm, no need for words. <br />
We are together, we are one; tomorrow <br />
does not matter. Sleep<br />
overtakes us.<br />
<br />
We move under snow white sheets. <br />
There is the touch of a hand to hip, <br />
a leg slides between thighs; for tonight <br />
we are the lovers.<br />
<br />
<strong></strong><br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">Naked you are slender as a naked grain of wheat</span></strong><br />
<br />
Todo lo que quieres es leer a usted; poemas<br />
de amor y pérdida, de piernas bronceadas<br />
y la simple belleza de tus manos.<br />
<br />
I want to hear every story you have ever lived, <br />
again and again, until I am filled with nothing <br />
but stories. Tell me about scabbed knees, braids,<br />
winter mornings that cooled the sun to a dull ochre. <br />
I want to hear about flannel pajamas and bare feet <br />
padding to the window to draw your name in frost. <br />
Tell me your first wish, made on a hot June night <br />
as a meteor burned through a cloud. I no longer <br />
believe in legends, myths, fables of winged gods <br />
or heroes that hide in the belly of a wooden horse. <br />
I no longer believe that a shot glass is large enough <br />
to hold the future or an empty bottle the only witness<br />
to our pain. I have forgotten everything I know about <br />
loss. Every truth we whisper becomes spring and when <br />
snow melts and the air smells of wet leaves, we will <br />
create a new summer. We will walk along the shore <br />
of Lake Superior, find the smoothest stone, skip it across<br />
water, feel ourselves in each ripple and wave. You’re in <br />
your favorite sundress, the one you wear when time does <br />
not matter; look at me from the corner of your eye as if <br />
you know exactly what I’m thinking. Lying together on <br />
the sand you tell me about passages made of rock, tucked <br />
in the slope of a hill. Trees lined up by a stream like toy <br />
soldiers, red orchards filled with ripe apples. How bees <br />
lose themselves inside purple orchids; how we are found. <br />
You tell me how the sky will protect us, how every story <br />
has been told.<br />
<br />
All I want is to read to you; poems <br />
of love and loss, of tanned legs <br />
and the simple beauty of your hands.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Naked you are blue as a night in Cuba</strong></span><br />
<br />
Durmiendo a mi lado:<br />
que son de color azul oscuro como el cielo al atardecer<br />
antes de que las estrellas tienen la oportunidad de despertar.<br />
Usted es azul como el mar de verano, cuando<br />
toma una respiración profunda.<br />
<br />
Our first date: a park on the corner of Chicago and 34th , <br />
it was the first real week of spring, the sun barely awake. <br />
You say you like wide open spaces: plenty of room to make <br />
the really big mistakes. You are leaning against a tree, reading <br />
Veinte poemas de amor. I approach and you tuck your hair <br />
behind your ear, stuff the book in your back pocket, walk <br />
toward me. You wear a pair of faded Levi’s, a threadbare <br />
sweater your grandmother made for you, the top button <br />
missing. I didn’t know then she was dying. Your hair <br />
is loose, just past your shoulders, there is a whisper of gray<br />
among auburn I hadn’t noticed before. Not knowing quite<br />
what to do I give you an awkward hug. In that one second <br />
I notice: your hair has the scent of fresh cut lilacs, there’s<br />
a heart-shaped mole on your hairline, a robin flies overhead,<br />
your hands are delicate, the nail on your right middle finger <br />
bitten down, your skin is a smooth white, your eyes are pale <br />
with thin, long lashes. As my hand slides down your back <br />
two children jump off a swing and run by us, you turn <br />
to watch them as my hand falls away, smile and ask me <br />
a question I forget before you are even finished. We walk <br />
and you tell me how you like to paint: quiet greens for past<br />
sins, gravel roads and unplowed fields; dull yellows for loss, <br />
for your grandmother’s house and the memory of your father;<br />
brilliant blues for a lover you have yet to meet and soft grays, <br />
not the gray of sadness but of a sleeping sky, of a path once <br />
forgotten then rediscovered in spring. <br />
<br />
Sleeping next to me:<br />
you are dark blue as the sky at dusk <br />
before stars have a chance to awake. <br />
You are blue as the sea when summer <br />
takes a deep breath.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>You've vines and stars in your hair</strong></span><br />
<br />
Quiero dormir con sus pensamientos, sueños<br />
vivos, persiguen su piel, la caricia de su ronda<br />
pezones con la palma de mi mano, sentir el roce<br />
de los labios sobre mis nudillos.<br />
<br />
your hands are of the earth, your hips <br />
round as the moon, your breasts, ripe<br />
and full. But first, let me tell you how <br />
I love you: how you are spring, words <br />
<br />
that fill a blank page, you are the branch <br />
of a tree, the beautiful small moment before <br />
a kiss. Let me tell you how I want to share <br />
my skin, my blood with you, every breath. <br />
<br />
How I want us to make love gently; <br />
fuck, fiercely as if we are the last two <br />
lovers on earth. I want to be still, aware, <br />
<br />
feel the beat of time on your smooth thigh; <br />
know that our future is an origami swan <br />
we unfold again and again.<br />
<br />
I want to sleep with your thoughts, dream <br />
them alive; haunt your skin, caress your round <br />
nipples with the flat of my palm, feel the brush <br />
of lips over my knuckles.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Naked you are spacious and yellow</strong></span><br />
<br />
Si alguna vez me olvide lo que su voz suena como<br />
el cielo se abrió de golpe y me va a envolver el<br />
memoria en su caparazón; sueñan el mismo sueño<br />
una y otra vez.<br />
<br />
I wake in the middle of a dream, it’s ten minutes <br />
before the alarm goes off: we’re in Mexico, rock <br />
hounding and beach combing, upsetting buckets <br />
of sand. After one week: lipstick traces on empty<br />
glasses, every cliché in the book seems brand new<br />
and still, we don’t believe it as it happens. You run<br />
your fingertips along my forearm and its all I need<br />
to forget what we came through. We don’t have to <br />
hide because the world will never find us in plain <br />
sight. Doubt evaporates with the dew. On the fringe <br />
of the city is a tavern with vinyl covered bar stools, <br />
rust colored tiles and beer in long neck bottles. Friday <br />
becomes a layer of dust covering the floor, a neon clock <br />
flickers in 4/4 time and cash is king. We wait for last <br />
call, one last chance before night is ready to fall into<br />
bed. Believing becomes simple and we are the last hope <br />
in town. Week two: every night, much of what you say <br />
is unexpected, it is what I want to hear but didn't really<br />
know until it was said out loud. Late turns into too early <br />
and we are armed and ready for anything. There is the <br />
garbage truck alarm clock, the smell of cooking, sounds <br />
of the city morning combined with exhaust. Dirt and grime <br />
mixed with laughter at our pidgin Spanish asking quietly <br />
for the time of the hour or where is the blue of the sea. <br />
Silence opens up doors and you prop open the windows <br />
for good karma; we make love as two weeks folds itself <br />
into three. At four we decide we’ve collected enough luck <br />
to stretch into the next two lifetimes. We’ve shared every <br />
bit of honesty between the sheets Everything is just right, <br />
baby. Morning songs roll into evening songs, then comes <br />
the rain; by the time we’re finished, we’ll have plenty of <br />
time to catch up with ourselves.<br />
<br />
If I ever forget what your voice sounds like <br />
the sky will burst open and I will wrap your <br />
memory in its shell; dream the same dream<br />
over and over.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>As summer in a golden church</strong></span><br />
<br />
Imagínese nosotros, junto al mar, en una casa<br />
de los depósitos. Usted podrá degustar la sal<br />
en mi piel, coloque su mano en mi<br />
corazón y escuchar el mar.<br />
<br />
When someday becomes today: it will be quiet,<br />
the wind will scoop up our every thought. I will <br />
feel the round of your breasts against my back <br />
as you sleep. The oceans will become silent;<br />
<br />
salt water and sand sifts through our fingers. <br />
You will laugh and tell me there is still so <br />
much time but kiss me quickly to save <br />
the moment. Night coughs to an empty<br />
<br />
start, the dense breath of summer colors <br />
your cheek. My fingers run through your <br />
hair, trees watch, in silent prayer.<br />
<br />
We become still. Wrapped in each other’s<br />
bodies, we create a new language; vowels <br />
and consonants no longer necessary <br />
<br />
Imagine us, by the sea, in a house <br />
of shells. You will taste the salt <br />
on my skin, place your hand on my <br />
heart and listen to the ocean.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Naked you are tiny as one of your nails</strong></span><br />
<br />
Tú eres la piedra, Yo soy el agua;<br />
cada palabra me rompe lanzas en<br />
un millar de plata con punta de las olas.<br />
<br />
Naked you are a thin beam of light breaking <br />
through the window. Naked you are small<br />
as one of your hands. The moment night fell, <br />
and covered us like a blanket was the first <br />
time we felt the sensation of skin on skin. <br />
Morning is a blank canvas, the horizon still <br />
invisible; you are delicate, a dusky child <br />
of an untamed sea. Last night lingers on; <br />
a favourite song, a delicious thirst, a vision: <br />
The club will close soon; its cold outside, <br />
our coats need to be rescued from the coat <br />
check. I wink at the swan necked girl, as I <br />
give her the chits a proprietary hand slides <br />
into my back pocket, our hips sway together. <br />
You turn your head to kiss me. You’re an artist<br />
who don’t look back, you’re nobody’s child. <br />
The scent of your hair reminds me of the time <br />
we spent in Avignon, bright yellow pears, dirt<br />
roads and dry canals. I am out of cigarettes, flat<br />
broke and blinded by a charred sun. You tell me<br />
you want an adventure, want to pull back the thin <br />
black veil that divides past from future. We roll <br />
the windows all the way down, stereo blasting<br />
the ‘Mats. An open highway and clean skies; end<br />
less spring, endless possibilities. The way is slick <br />
with promise. We ramp down Lyndale Ave, catch<br />
a glimpse of neon when it starts to rain; the soft <br />
pop and click of drops on the windshield in perfect<br />
time with Tommy’s bass line. You ask me to pay <br />
in cash, smile as you hand me their business card-<br />
to use for your next lover, you laugh. I reach for it, <br />
you pull me close, kiss me hard on the mouth. <br />
<br />
You are the stone, I am the water; <br />
each word you toss breaks me into <br />
a thousand silver-tipped waves.<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Curved, subtle, rosy, till the day is born</strong></span><br />
<br />
su cuerpo contra el mío es la luz:<br />
todas las patas, el pelo largo y listo<br />
para iniciar una revolución<br />
<br />
Onetwothreefourfive, we take our sweet time<br />
after the alarm goes off. Nowhere to go, no<br />
where to be, nobody but we two. You tell me <br />
how you remember your first taste of the body <br />
of Christ. The brittle snap, a dry throat, then <br />
silence. You tell me your father was unrepentant,<br />
how he didn’t believe in sin; he believed in home<br />
cooked meals and the Chicago Cubs. He reveled <br />
in the beauty of the overlooked and the taken for <br />
granted. You sigh when you talk of your mother, <br />
her shiny hair, homemade dresses, her small, soft <br />
hands and how they became scarred from bleach <br />
and steel wire. You hold your breath as you describe <br />
her singing you to sleep. Exhale when you recall<br />
how she brushed your hair, counting to one hundred; <br />
every stroke a memory. You laugh and remember<br />
the Sunday she burned dinner and rather than be <br />
angry, your father swept her in his arms, kissed her <br />
forehead and asked you if you wanted to go for ice <br />
cream. You lay on your side, tell me we have stories <br />
to write each other, poems to read and letters to open. <br />
Outside, the wind is rough, light fades and the radiator<br />
ticks awake. You call yourself an orphan, show me <br />
the scar on your back, behind your lung, where a needle<br />
was inserted to drain the fluid. I circle it with my little <br />
finger, kiss your shoulder blade and place my hand <br />
on your ribs. Somewhere a phone rings, the drone <br />
of a plane fades; you close your eyes, pull the sheet <br />
over your breasts, tell me not to worry. You tell me <br />
there will be no breaking; no need to repent. Tell me <br />
you have always loved me. Unconditionally. Fiercely. <br />
It is reckless. Necessary. <br />
<br />
your body against mine is light: <br />
all legs, long hair and ready <br />
to start a revolution<br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>And you withdraw to the underground world</strong></span><br />
<br />
Usted es translúcido, un susurro<br />
de los labios sedientos. Usted es un delgado<br />
de grano, un vaso de rocío y la lluvia.<br />
<br />
I have forgotten your middle name, replaced it <br />
with a narrative. One tale to explain your absence, <br />
one to explain how your hair has become brittle <br />
to my touch. Still another to describe how I lost <br />
<br />
your voice; about the unbearable weight of grief<br />
that walked through the door. Oh, to be a tulip:<br />
to desire no more than water, light; this could<br />
be a dream in any other language, a journey<br />
<br />
into the country of namelessness. We’re packed,<br />
bottled up and ready to go. We are unmapped <br />
and righteous. We know everything vanishes, <br />
<br />
everything dissolves at the right temperature<br />
yet, you ask for nothing. Nothing but my hand<br />
on your heart and a story, fragile and green. <br />
<br />
You are translucent, a whisper<br />
from thirsty lips. You are a slender<br />
grain; a vessel of dew and rain. <br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>As if down a long tunnel of clothing and of chores</strong></span><br />
<br />
Nuestra primera noche juntos, la luna es tímido,<br />
las estrellas se convierten en nuestros manta. <br />
Los cambios de voz como usted están a punto <br />
de quedarse dormido.<br />
<br />
Ask me. Anything. Every lie has already <br />
been spent. I am from the North Country. <br />
Used to cold shoulders and winds that tame <br />
blue waters. There was homemade soda pop <br />
and ice cream freezers. Rubber band guns; <br />
warm, sweet beer and dust from rusty rails<br />
on the bottom of our shoes. There was Deb, <br />
Teresa, a transfer student named Magdalena, <br />
Julie, Julia and Liz. 99 lines for 35 women. <br />
It was the end of the line. The beginning<br />
of time. Fell in love. She had small breasts,<br />
artist hands. She loved spring, played soccer. <br />
Told me I was a river. She wanted to paint.<br />
Felt boxed in. I promised to round the sharp <br />
edges. Took my ’70 Impala to the skyline,<br />
made out by the reservoir. Locked ourselves<br />
out one night. Late for curfew. Even after <br />
breaking the wing window and doing ninety<br />
down Becks Road. One summer in a St. Paul <br />
park she found a stray dog. Spackled white<br />
with one ragged ear. Took it home. We broke<br />
up three months later. Told me I had made<br />
a habit of losing her. She couldn’t hold on to<br />
shadows and broken lines. She has a husband,<br />
two boys, a dog named Otto. Paints still life, <br />
writes true stories. Loves yellow crocuses. <br />
There’s a brown bird, sits outside our window. <br />
Tilts his head at the string of paper butterflies <br />
that flutter from the ceiling. We are a secret. <br />
We are a mournful song. We are the same <br />
no longer; we are sea-washed and new. <br />
<br />
Our first night together, the moon is shy, <br />
stars become our blanket. Your voice changes<br />
as you are about to fall asleep.<br />
<br />
<span style="font-size: large;"><strong>Your clear light dims, gets dressed, drops its leaves</strong></span><br />
<br />
Me encanta su cuerpo, la forma en que encaja a la perfección<br />
con la mía. Como todos los secretos que hemos compartido<br />
permanece en mí como un segundo corazón<br />
<br />
I remember every time we made love, <br />
have given them names. Names of stars, <br />
planets. You tell me they are the dreamed<br />
of places. Pegasus was in spring, sunrise<br />
a breath away. We could see the future. <br />
Scent of rosewater on your skin. Each <br />
touch a promise. Each promise a refuge. <br />
Andromeda was a non descript hotel. <br />
Straight off the exit ramp. Just in time. <br />
You called it a hooker hotel. Laughed. <br />
We fell on the bed. Slowly undressed <br />
each other. Nowhere to go. You told me <br />
you felt beautiful. For the first time ever. <br />
Mercury: an attic studio. Slanted ceiling. <br />
Paper birds. Unfinished paintings. Dog <br />
eared books of poetry. Veinte poemas de <br />
amor. We walk into abstractions. Shallow<br />
spaces that live between excuses. Moments. <br />
Threadbare but clean: the way light filters <br />
through a crack in the window, how silence <br />
becomes entwined in the decisions we make. <br />
It’s winter. You tell me I’m much better at <br />
asking questions than answering them. Laugh.<br />
Wrap your leg around mine. Kiss my cheek. <br />
One more constellation falls into the sky.<br />
<br />
I love your body, the way it fits perfectly<br />
with mine. How every secret we have shared <br />
lingers in me like a second heart.<br />
<br />
Y se convierte en una mano desnuda de nuevo<br />
<br />
To know you is to know beauty <br />
and love; without you <br />
there are no words.<br />
<br />
Que me sostiene cada palabra que he escrito<br />
para mí. Lave cada sílaba limpia y coloque<br />
que en tus labios, de ver florecer en<br />
nuevas historias. Imagínese nosotros, junto al mar, en una casa<br />
<br />
de los depósitos. El sabor de la sal en mi piel, el lugar<br />
tu mano en mi corazón, escuchar el mar.<br />
Su piel es mía, yo los dedos rastrear cada<br />
curva, círculo cada cicatriz, a respirar,<br />
<br />
con cada golpe. El futuro es una cadera pálido<br />
ósea, la mama en el hueco de mi mano. Besaré<br />
una vez por cada día que han trabajado por mis pecados.<br />
<br />
Mi pecado es amarte, mi crimen, creyendo<br />
usted es el filamento que establece día de diferencia<br />
de la noche, la tierra del aire.<br />
<br />
Para saber que es conocer la belleza<br />
y el amor, sin ti<br />
no hay palabras.<br />
<br />
<br />
<strong><span style="font-size: large;">And becomes a naked hand again</span></strong><br />
<br />
Para saber que es conocer la belleza<br />
y el amor, sin ti<br />
no hay palabras.<br />
<br />
Let me hold every word you have written <br />
for me. Wash each syllable clean then place <br />
them on your lips, watch them blossom into <br />
new stories. Imagine us, by the sea, in a house <br />
<br />
of shells. Taste the salt on my skin, place <br />
your hand on my heart, listen to the ocean. <br />
Your skin is my own, I finger-trace every <br />
curve, circle every scar; draw a breath <br />
<br />
with every stroke. The future is a pale hip <br />
bone, your breast cupped in my hand. I’ll kiss<br />
you once for every day I have toiled for my sins.<br />
<br />
My sin is loving you; my crime, believing <br />
you are the filament that sets day apart<br />
from night, land from air. <br />
<br />
<i>To know you is to know beauty <br />
and love; without you <br />
there are no words. </i>The Camel Saloonhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17466326145539153263noreply@blogger.com0