First we had a thousand thoughts by morning. Then we took a shower, left the door open because who cares? suspended war, and applied pressure where the the other one was sore. Next we dressed in highly scented clothing that had hung awaiting moments for some weeks. Teen Dream looped through a second or third time. Neither of us felt the need to speak. Next we shared a smoke out of the slider, microwaved an old cup of saxby’s. Your sweat still smelled like apple cider, Woodchuck 802 (I do believe). Then your phone rang and a shitty buick retching smoke and shaking like a twit appeared and you were gone from me forever.


~ by perfectionatrix on January 3, 2011.

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