Cloaked in an Autumn Bare

I am too.

Selfish.

As is anyone who's ever tried to love. And almost succeeded.

There ought to be a hallmark card for I'm sorry I'm so flawed. Sorry you are too. Then at least, we'd have something real to give each other.

I think a bed is a terrible place to try to sleep. Because so often that is where we try so desperately to wake one another. With careless stabs at feeling things the flesh only pretends to know.

Strip off the sheets and all I've got is a filthy mattress that remembers you better than I can now. Still dented where we tunneled through those skins looking for a shelter that wasn't there. You can take away my cape and I'll still fly without it. For a little while. It's only getting high enough and then letting yourself fall. That's all it is.

Long, long chats without ourselves to interfere. Just so many ways to say it's wrong.