it's cold but the light is pure.
clean and soft
fresh and fast
leave the cold and into the room
slow and dusty
soft and dead.
books and papers
ink and brushes
wooded smells and rusted air.
old whispers
swift speakers
days of silence
dead sighs.
the old books give the smell
that only they possess.
the old ink is dry and smells like copper.
old brushes smell like horses.
old air smells
like "old"
leave the room and into the cold
slow and dreamy
soft and dead.
the outside smells of snow.
 Never Ask Dante · Sun May 06, 2007 @ 06:44pm · 1 Comments |
