22 maio 2013










Fire roses





Today you grasped
the stars as
they were slipping off
the edge of my horizon
and shook them back
into the sky.

You are
quicksilver
can leave me
slow-footed
wordless.

My skin is alive
with the soft imprint
of your mouth.
How many miracles
can there be?

As I burnt your letters
the pages spread and curled
bloomed
like fire roses.








Cynthia Fuller









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