dudly
the wndy wind blew away wendy
wendy the hamster had a hat
that i hadn't knitted yet
but it tore and swore
on the marvelous gaze
of the windy wind of may or way or when
and if they whistled and whoostled
if they hustled and hissled
if they caboomed and carrooned
then i'd maybe have
one more of you
sitting on one more of me
again a cycle was broken
because she leapt rather than cowered
because she smiled and grinned when before
she hardly dared uncover her teeth
no matter how undamaged they were
pearls of laughter had long ago abandoned her
she stood and swayed
and hunched her back
but now
where it matters
she laughs and
her mouth is wide open
i'm not broken.
i've survived.
i broke myself into pieces as he tore into me with his words. i've broken myself because i let him, even knowing the effect it had on me. i stared at myself in every reflective surface, i wrote and drew and drew into myself too. and still, i decided to give it a shot, to give it one more chance. one more chance to shatter myself more thoroughly, i suppose -- after all, I wasn't done yet.
somehow it came back.
he had thrown it away more than a few times: once he had dropped it on the way home, other times he thrashed it at someone else's place, in the back alley, at the city dump. Nothing ever worked though. He was always finding it again, sitting on his bed or quietly folded, the infernal flannel that bore him no ill, but which simply didn't want to stay gone.
man wears flannel for many reasons. the first of this is the honey-bee principle: as long as they stick to their favorite shirts and plaids, bees will give them sufficient respect and heed their calls for sweet kisses in the bushes, forever and always. it's an old accord, but it has never disappointed the agreeants.
she was startled out of her mind when she realized he stood this close to her.
his smell was that of sandalwood and spices; cinnamon and ginger and something not quite describable, but she liked it. it reminded her of exotic trips she had always denied herself. it reminded her of the moon taking a swim at sunset, and of all the fairy lights over the lake by her grandparents' house.
i noticed a lack of color in her missing eyes
the sun had left a while back, weeks and months before she turned
and became the age of her mother's best memories
it certainly did not matter
but still
she laughed and clapped
and leaned in just enough to whisper,
for you always, for you are dear,
but it sounded like her heart had been carved in and emptied out
an engine with as much firepower? i couldn't get that for you
a rocket powered with the fire of a thousand suns that could drive us over all the edges of all the galaxies? i couldn't even begin to dream it for you.
a gun and a bit of powder, to murder all those dark thoughts lingering and have nothing remaining but our happiness?
maybe, perhaps;
but in power and in fire, what i could get you is the force of my running heart, the heat of my kisses on your dark skin, the warmth of my palms on your drumming pulse: that is all the firepower i give you, and it shall provide all the energy i need to love you all the longer for it.
there was nobody more selective than the female mind on a vacation love spree. she scanned every face, every clothing item. she scanned the drinks, finding a meaning for each cocktail and each squeeze of lemon; she scanned the way forks were held, the way tongues were loosened. she analyzed his gait, and she scrutinized his weight. she held his hand and thought of the smoothness of his skin and wished it was more tender still; she opened her arms to him and let him in and wished he was taller and a bit rougher at the edge, but she had selected him many signs of respect ago, and the choice wasn't a poor one after all.
it's just a cough, she said, holding out her hand. it won't harm you.
they all say that.
yes, but half of them are right too.
he shrugged.
it wasn't like he'd been born yesterday. it always started with just a cough; and soon, you felt dizzy and weak and you needed help. and since he was falling in love with her, it just made it worse; how would he actually manage to not help, when all he wanted to do was lay beside her day in and day out and play with the stickers on her clothes and the wild stray hair on her neck?
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