Tuesday 11/28/2006 01:09:00 AM

It was nothing anyway.

Two strangers fall in love. And then forget.


Rouge sheets thick with sex. Burst like a blister. And we wipe away the pus.

Two strangers catch each other's names. And we keep those beds. Tuck them in like children desperate for a story.

That ends well.

It was nothing. Just strangers. In lover's clothes.

Blaming that wolf again.

| Alcoholic Poet Home |
Copyright 2005-2024. All Rights Reserved.