The Tempest

I wanted to seem interesting, striking – sure not quite arresting, but perhaps enough to float suggestions of how I’d feel with you in bedrooms just like we were for a summer. Fall fell, winter made me number – made each bone seem distant, hollow; made it feel so good to wallow through a sea of my own pity, waiting for a wave to empty out this skeleton you molded, or recognize the shirts you folded a hundred times before you passed them down to me and asked them, ‘please – let this part just end swiftly.’


~ by perfectionatrix on August 12, 2010.

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