Tuesday, March 22, 2011

Sonata ~ C J Allen

The sound, like sand, her blonde hair makes,
reflected in apartment blocks,
polished towers, cobalts, zincs,
that rise in geometric chunks.

The way her language has a smell
of cinnamon or ethanol,
and glows like pearls, impossible
as she is tall.  That’s all.  That’s all.

1 comment:

Gordon Mason said...

fantastic images ... enjoyed this very much