Shade from a Mountain

On shadow frames, I adore contrasting new verb names with each one grabbing her strap down a little bit more – sights fit to stop a war (believe me). This lithe shape could certainly slip under doorways, she could trip on acid four days later come back and then reclaim me – I’d be waiting, still shaking from the coldness in her wrists. We don’t kiss; I list myself to her with loud rhyming, and my timing is terrible, my transitions often miss – she’s best seen from the corner of the eye, like true magic. Viewed directly, she diffuses like eyeliner smeared near eyes already unfocused. It’s dramatic but I don’t think anybody notices. I wrote her this, one time, and thought about it when I’d see her, thinking maybe it’d help guide me into something slightly clearer – us nocturnal things have awful eyes for details (although females often see better than guys). And besides, even a shadow has a thigh that I could span about three quarter’s around halfway in the stretched grip of my hand. Evening darkness only smiles because she’s always got a plan – you can’t surprise her or deny her; the best thing is to sleep (if she’ll lay down, beside her. If she won’t, invite her to go down to the computer while you return to dreams). I am shaky with some unnamed dreadful fear of what could be. I am watching the sun rising and evaporating shadows that I one hour matched with – it’s some nervousness of fast twitch fibers I get thinking of the way that darkness may pervade. We each gave out a little. I laid her down like shade from a mountain.

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~ by perfectionatrix on December 27, 2011.

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