PAGE CREATED: February 13, 2000
LAST UPDATED: February 13, 2000
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© 2000 dragonstar14@hotmail.com
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White cushy pillows filled
with down--
cold fingers run across,
leaving trails of dust
and blue tinted nails--
wrap me up tight,
the soft darkness descends as
auroras rise northernly
as I play freeze-tag on the lawn.
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The end result of a game of poetry-tag, in which someone gives you a word, and from there you have to write a poem about that word. This was also one of the poem that recently (last semester-winter '99) published in my college's paper, The Leader's extra poetry/prose section.
PAGE CREATED: February 13, 2000
LAST UPDATED: February 13, 2000
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© 2000 dragonstar14@hotmail.com
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