The Karma of Accidents

Heavy respites made of thunder. An open letter to myself. Words blossoming like atomic bombs. In my head cannons. In my voice only raindrops. There we are. Or were. Dogs without leashes. Thinking we were free at last.

Until what had kept us there decided it wasn't coming back.

An open letter. An envelope in which to send my thoughts. I was always looking for one. That what I needed was to get it there. Never considered it might've already arrived unnoticed.

In my head oceans. In my voice only islands.

I had every word there in my grip. Their triggers kissing my tongue. But why aim for a target that doesn't want to be hit. Feasting on lies that never quench this appetite.

It's so pretty in the gray. The spaces between now and then where I knew who she was. The color of her jeans at each stage of fading. From dark to light in hungry gasps. One thigh at a time strutting the breeze between her legs. I could count every wrinkle in her pockets as the change within would giggle as she danced.

Her ballet with the edge.

The smile in her frown always alive even when the power would go out. And we could only see each other by memory. Voices stalking absent shadows through defects in the silence. Without eyes. Without hands. Overwhelmed by the smell of the loss.

The better part of hunger behind us, we began negotiations with the other half.