11-20-2009, 01:03 PM
Her cheeks, like Soviet marble, so sunken into her mouth.
Her lips, protrusions of blood-filled pillows, waiting to smother.
Her hair, the finest of pagan silks, wrapped in winter seclusion.
Her eyes...my God, her eyes; the color of an ocean death, the shape of a spider's web, the glare of a broken window.
Her eyelids, the closing of a widow's coffin.
Her eyebrows, arches leading to an abandoned room.
I remember Anja.
Her lips, protrusions of blood-filled pillows, waiting to smother.
Her hair, the finest of pagan silks, wrapped in winter seclusion.
Her eyes...my God, her eyes; the color of an ocean death, the shape of a spider's web, the glare of a broken window.
Her eyelids, the closing of a widow's coffin.
Her eyebrows, arches leading to an abandoned room.
I remember Anja.