the temptation resolves. as chronic as touch is. all paper staircases and plastic doors. her dress is long. a shadow free from the science of angles. the sun is capricious. a fickle child put to bed too early . unsweetened chocolate. a flat tire at high speed. a thief out of practice. an impossible mountain aching against gravity's cold consent.
she bites her tongue. tasting the stranger under her skin who's so effortlessly becoming her.
she lays her bets. as weak as they are. the risk is a requirement.
the dubious parodies of freedom. all fish hooks and worms. no reverse. the biology of when. much louder than her quiet confessions.
she bites her tongue. pausing for the taste of blood. but it isn't there. a pale bystander on the edge of her contempt.
no wounds. only vacant cuts. hollow and barren of blood. resolute ghosts too focused on their dwindling skins.
he wagered on several things. none of them her.
the shadows came. long fingers pointing. grabbing at the void. there was always light, but never enough of it.
the edge met the colors. in a controversy of skin. a dim epiphany of acceptance. full of lye and vinegar.
she paused at the intersection. though the right of way was hers. she looked in all directions. but there was nowhere to go.
Thursday
1/29/2015 12:22:00 AM
| Life Poems |