debbie millman

Tuesday, May 24, 2005

Poem: Misha

When I reached for your hand
you looked at my fingers and told me I was a witch.

All that tapering and all.

I asked if I could kiss you--
your beautiful bruised mouth
and you nodded.

Last night I dreamt I was a cat
sneaking out of closet door slightly ajar.

And I knew what it meant.
I knew.


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1/29/2006 03:24:00 PM  

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