Monday 1/15/2007 12:17:00 AM

He had so many ways to tell me he loved me, but he could never decide on the right one. So I tried on a few dresses, but never bought any. The sand rose to meet our terms of surrender. The bottles waited for our response. While the drunk man at the corner of the bar cautioned us to remain strangers.

If we could.

He'd say it in words when he was drunk. He'd say it in emails when I wouldn't answer. He'd sing in it through his fingernails as they raked my skin. He'd say it and I'd tell him he was wrong. Citing the the pills as evidence. A jury of condoms left to determine.

How wrong we were.

5 comments:
Prick said...

Now I'm left wondering, that as a He myself, do I want to be He, or is it wrong to be He. I feel He is wrong, and I fear I am wrong.

Help me?

alcoholic poet said...

i'm in no position to judge whether you are wrong or right.

Miao said...

Love the lyrical rhythm of your writings.

alcoholic poet said...

thanx miao. am curious what made you change your mind about too many stops.

maybe this one just went easy on them. it's hard to be sure. don't like reading what i've written but more than once.

Miao said...

Well, I just thought it would be better if you explored various styles instead. But you're getting better at executing the art of using full-stops, and now you vary your sentences rather nicely, so there is more lyrical rhythm. Keep it up.



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