Monday 4/16/2007 11:57:00 PM

She had a little iodine in her kiss. The seduction of disease not withstanding. I wish I knew how it feels to be that kind of woman. The altar and the sacrifice. The sin and the penance. Like a god without a religion. Like a house without a roof. Let it rain. Let it float. Let our martyrs drown and our saviors swim.

He had a little bandage on his knee when I met him. Like he was prepared to stumble. Be wrong to find the right again. Believing in such an instance. That the truth could be painted on a flag. Or buried in a dented mattress. For women to find after their suitors had gone. The practical nursery rhymes of sex chewing on stale pillows. As if hunger has such an easy cure.

Clawing our way out of that nightmare. Still half asleep and wishing the alarm could reason. Writing our way through those daydreams. Needles eager to pierce the vein. Drawing heaven form traces of hell. Lost in the formality of seduction. Paper dolls bartering with the scissors. Blades of grass underfoot. Arguing over who drew first blood.

Lonely as I want to be. Sinking in the choreographed suicide of so many lovers.

Not lost. Not found.

Just as it should be. When you've gotten too close.

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