Monday 6/19/2006 12:03:00 AM

Start from when you put out the cigarette. Still brushing the sand from the soles of your shoes as each footprint followed you toward.

The waves long receded. The sting of the jellyfish fading. The salt on your breath just an afterthought as you crawled into the backseat together.

What do you remember about her? Freckled skin tense under the strobe lights of your stare. Nylon mini skirt excited with static puckering toward the space between her thighs. Like a candy scented invitation to open her up.

What do you remember? When the choice is yours? What happened or what might have? Had you really undressed her. Removed all those skins that kept you from truly being inside her. Filling the hole she painted your name on.

Do you know the difference between just closing the door and hearing the latch click?

Do you ever wonder what she looks like when no one's there? The scarecrow without its straw. How she speaks when no one listens. The way the words jump from her lips in a downpour of small suicides.

Until every thought is dead.

3 comments:
vendella von messershmitt said...

"The way the words jump from her lips in a downpour of small suicides...Until every thought is dead."

because, by then, there is nothing left...

Yes. I know this heavy place.

"Do you know the difference between just closing the door and hearing the latch click?"

So well put...I will keep this imagery in mind today, for myself and all those I meet in session.
(exhale)

There is such a difference between the door...miles and oceans of differences in meaning, action and consequence. Hearing the latch brings tears to my eyes.

Thank you, again, for your beauty.

Wendy

ozymandiaz said...

No words leaping to their death here, to die in obscurity. These words are each an arrow, flying straight and succinct, right on Target.

alcoholic poet said...

thanx for reading you guys. for really reading.

it means a lot.



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