| If I think through each possibility I have the means to know how you spent this Sunday And the train of your thoughts as you dress for Monday. But science answers naught in the face of such gall And the flush in my cheeks owes far less to the wine Than the heated question of my place in your heart when its ventricles sigh, Dreams powwow, Indians chant, Cowboys dance, Children fest, Four suns rest, Friday comes. (February 2003) Copyright ©2003 Olivier Serrat |
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