Poetry of a Conlanger

Sunday, January 15, 2006


My tongue tripping fluently over
Words full of richness,
My mouth twisting to
Sip the diamond water,
My lips waiting.

My arms moving gracefully to twine
Around the ribboned water,
My mind comprehending the
Glorious impossibilities veined through life.

Pulling the blankets closer,
I recall the golden honey
That ran in my veins
When you were here.

Light frames my windowshade
At midnight,
Startling a thousand dust motes
Into sparkling life.

I bolt upright with
A sudden knowing:

It is snowing.


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