Fair temptation in her yellow dress. Sheer and shimmering above the glow of tender skin. Dances the needle as it writes words never spoken.
There were actual nightmares. The monsters were as real as monsters have ever been. I'd wake up with the images. And fall back asleep to them.
Never saying what I saw when I closed my eyes. Nor when I opened them.
I guess I was made that way.
No sound. All fury. Quiet.
Listening to the hum the crtuch makes as they scrape it across the shape of their shadow. Noting how it bisects their movement. The crack in the hourglass. All that counting lost.
Not to know what it was. I still remember well enough.
Weighing the feather always leaves me feeling cheated.
Like all I have to wear is short sleeves and it's always winter.
Saturday
4/01/2006 12:10:00 AM
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