The First Shall Be Last

The summer is so so short; it’s practically over already. It’s worth much more than casually forgetting you’re still sore with me for some lingering thing – I know I am always so mean in your dreams but it’s past my control. The summer tip-toed through my cracked open window and told me my soul couldn’t be bought for pennies – not even my enemies love me enough to destroy me. The bees are awake; the flowers are pouring their pollen out like a plow salts the roads in an opposite season when our fingers are cold – too frozen to fumble with last minute buttons, they tumble through pockets forgotten or lusting in secret. I mean it – I think way too much. There is a word for all this and it sounds just like one that I’m too scared to say.

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~ by perfectionatrix on June 14, 2012.

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