Sad Labels:
lovers
Turn me over. Write me down. I'm anything but permanent. Frantically worn by each episode of clarity.
He combed his hair with his fingers. Mine too. Plotting a course through the tangles in each stab of recogniction. He was hard candy. Cellophane wrinkling as I unwrapped. So long on my tongue before I could actually taste him. We were getting there until there got us.
I was hitting the buttons. Mapping out the path. Clutching the beeps like echoes of prayers. Going deaf trying so hard to hear what hadn't been said.
He adjusted his grin and stood up to ask permission. But I had already agreed.