Monday, September 10, 2007


We are separated by one hour and twelve minutes, a geographic closeness finding us expelled from different mothers, but somehow alike in matters of disposition and soul. You are the parts of me I keep tucked under the shell, the parts that sting eyes when seen, those that burn a finger's touch, the kiss that scorns loves presence. Your stare tells me everything I need to know about pain and suffering, the vulnerability of man despite tough exteriors, and hands that brush off attacks hoping for exclusion from the truth, but at the heart of our connection, the place where palms graze each other in passing, we find the essence of our beings constructed of the same thread weaved inward over time. Aleathia Drehmer 2007

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