tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-21997502250555731972011-04-21T19:29:51.735-07:00FooDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067721253093946299noreply@blogger.comBlogger11100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2199750225055573197.post-70535201026066576312008-08-05T15:39:00.000-07:002008-08-05T15:44:40.862-07:00<span style="font-weight: bold;"><br /><br />Answer It</span><br /><br /><br />the phone rings<br />and you come unstrung<br />like a string of pearls<br /><br />the phone rings<br />and your fingers are encircled<br />in tones of silver and gold<br /><br />the phone rings<br />and the bedroom in the back of your head<br />is papered with cut red velvet<br /><br />the phone rings<br />and keys jangle<br />in the caller's calloused hand<br /><br />the phone rings<br />because he has put his finger on<br />the only existing key<br /><br />to your heart's lock<div class="blogger-post-footer"><img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/2199750225055573197-7053520102606657631?l=poetrysplatters.blogspot.com' alt='' /></div>FooDoghttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15067721253093946299noreply@blogger.com0