her broken nylons were restless. as she argued with the slope of her knees. it's too difficult to get in. too easy to get out. all her panties were red. all her lovers were judges.
guilty.
of wanting to be someone else.
Counting the sunsets. Peeling their clothes off like candy wrappers. They melt in your mouth. And in your hand. Disappearing into folds on skin. The treaty of touch resolving the wars I've lost. The breath of gods tired of listening to what we can't do for ourselves. No more angels for us.
She opens the window. Inviting the night to explain. Why she's still the same girl after so many years of playing the woman.
Monday
12/03/2007 01:11:00 AM
I always feel like I'm dreaming when I read your posts. I wish I could write like that.
i'm sure you could if you wanted to. you'd just rather write like reality. as so your blog attests.
i can't deal with that. but those of you that can, do a great service to us all.
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