Thursday 12/28/2006 11:04:00 PM

He was soaking into his words. Like a hot bath tenderizes one's skin. Fastens a tether to all things urgent. Making everything as casual as the most meanningless sexual encounter.

The moment yanked the glasses from its face in a show of offense. Reveailing the little dents they had made where they cosntantly rested upon its nose. There was the sound of beds being made in the background. Sheets moaning to cover oversized mattresses. As the laundry trundled down the stairs in weak plastic baskets. She dressed herself anew. Washing up the coffeee dripped with a clean white sock. Sneaking into the sanctuary of the bathroom to take an inventory of her experience.

She glanced at him through the space between the door and the jamb. There was print all over his blank stare. She was always writing. Culling the plot from pinches of skin.

She was constantly imagining the grief the dagger must feel as it breaches the flesh.

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