Rain Dog

No apparitions, no homeland superstitions – just a throat laden with sickness and a downpour on a mission to wipe out every scent of you so no dogs can be used to track your small Japanese footprints or find samples of your black hair (though it’s really more dark-brown, I mean people call mine black) – your scent pours from this town down drainage spouts and lost mine shafts, and leaves me only with a headache that I might’ve had all week. I know we talk obliquely but I do still like to speak to you.

~ by perfectionatrix on October 2, 2011.