Thursday 6/14/2007 01:03:00 AM

The back of her hair is straight. The front a little lopsided. Just like the words are when she opens her mouth to say them. All bouncing balls and candyland. Winking dice molesting cardboard personas. Their plastic pedestals failing.

I could be cliche and say it's karma. But I just think it's ironic. That where I once was is where you are now. Sometimes sympathy is a cactus. Bleeding aloe to soften the wounds it makes.

Maybe we're always desperate. Always lonely. And the reprieve is just when we can be still. Perhaps we've always been lovers. All this while. And this nothing was our salvation.

Sleeping in a bed of ink. Warm under a blanket of pages. Resting my head on a pillow of forgotten faces. If they remember me, I'll never know.

Letting them go isn't enough. Letting them go is only the beginning of learning how to love them.

Finding the fossils. Cataloguing the evolution of touch. In every pore of my skin. The dirty pimples of pleasure erupting in my cheeks. The lava of a kiss overflowing. Eradicating all those come before it.

The blank chalkboard of a girl in love brazenly straddling Darwin's ghost.

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