Monday 4/16/2007 12:22:00 AM

It tastes just how it sounds. The gurgle of men pitted like grapes. It looks just how it should. So sweet it makes you gag. And then one day you're old enough. And you don't care. Can't remember. How it felt. Straddling the bed so long. Until your thighs ached with the void they left between them.

I'm never drunk anymore. Because there's no fun in it anymore. I only cut the dolls from the paper. And wonder what happens to the leftovers. I only just tell them how right it feels even though it's not. Because I prefer feeling lonely to feeling nothing at all.

I watch the movies. I keep track of the years. He writes. He thinks in chalk. Only to breathe it all away. I don't wonder what I lacked. Because I already know.

It's just as I imagined it. Drones stinging at the concrete. Honey bees loosing their abdomens. In the pull away. The entry point an unfortunate exit. Secure in the purpose of sex. To demean. It's apostles. The light not forgetting. With chisel and hammer. Gouging out a metaphor that's more tyrant than martyr. The anorexia of expression failing us again. Hunger a pale incentive to convince us to eat. Not understanding how something so soft got so hard. His search finally finds me sober.

Changed. But no different.

Our moments only remissions in my disease.

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