My knees dropped.
I have a good book
and a couple dozen hours.
Neither of them sound beautiful.
I almost can’t write this.
it crawled up my leg
and into the opening of my thigh
it now lives there
feeding off of my scent
making webs to catch the men
that try to find the diamond.
The way our bodies curve into each other when we sleep.
My throat is burning with the words I haven’t told you. I won’t (para)phrase it next time.
I will tell you.
_ _____ ___.
There’s always a siren flowing by outside my window. My fingertips numb. But it’s in the way of the flow, the constant motion, the way my feet settle. I’m going somewhere, always. I can make it. This is home.
I’d die in you if I could.
Centuries and millions of words wrapped in my body. My own personal casket, no flowers necessary.
I’d have the wisdom of life wrapped on the palms of my hands.
What fell apart?
It’s aching, whatever it is.
And glowing. These things tend to have a light of their own.
I want to make it up to you. Bring you a little close to whole.
He is the midnight news
that I watch when I cannot sleep.
I’m wishing I won’t ever have to change the channel.