Whisp

I hold the threads
They glisten between my fingers
Slowly undulating
And rising with the heat
Like spider webs
Turning more translucent
Slowly breaking down
And almost as soon as they appear
They vanish with a breath
The only trace of them
Is the sticky residue
In between the grooves
Of my finger tips.

-5/26/06

I just thought I should share one last poem before I head off for a few days. Enjoy!