Thursday, March 19, 2009

The Morning After

The Morning After

The aroma of the coffee you are brewing
Spreads through our humble campsite
The stars have faded, the moon is falling
The fire has died; only smoke remains.
I watch your hands, covered with black powder
And brush the sand out of my hair
I feel the wind bring tears to my eyes
The black above us was our blanket
The silence of the desert was our song

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