Sunday 11/22/2009 01:15:00 AM

Little chokes of thanks. As I embrace the suffocation. Long stories she only tells with her eyes. Written in her brow.

She teases the genie. Blowing on the bottle. Not making a single wish. She wishes for nothing. She wishes the genie wasn't inside it. Waiting to capitalize on a moment of weakness.

She stands over the oven. Gazing at the witch cooking inside. Nibbling on the load bearing cinnamon sticks throughout the candy house. Feeling his thrust more than his touch. The sweet. The sugar melting. In a dilution of choices.

She waits. For the moon to catch up. As she wanders the barren uterus of the future. A collection of moments to be harvested, but never born. Footprints. Following each other. In the circles they have wrought.

Content with the trauma. Charmed by the romance tragedy insists. She scribbles over the numbers. Spills all her paints on the empty spaces. Tiny matadors.

The colors change. The particles decide for us. Her timeline drawn in pencil. Her choices written in ink.

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