Monday, June 1, 2009

The Kite

The kite had broken away from the sky and was stuck on the branch of a tall tree. I gently pulled it free from the thorny grasp and held it in my hands.
‘This is mine. I found it first. I detangled it and I brought it down.’ I protested.
‘No this is mine. It reminds me so much of you.’ He said, looking wistfully at me.


Last night you wrote your sonnets in  Braille: the commas, parenthesis, ellipses engraved perfectly on my skin- and  I  ...