A Dirty Beach

The lord knows best (or so he says), but I won’t take his word til we’ve actually met – til after the snowfalls and swept-up dance halls with the watery black russians sweating rings and saying call yourself an hour ago and tell yourself to stop. The lord may know the petty things – the locations of the lost items like lighters, quarters, cellophane; how much more this quarter tank will take me; if the abv’s of ipa’s will break me – but I can do without those things (I always have so far). And numbers are so unromantic til they get out far past comprehension – to the millions or the billions or the tenths – or two of us fast asleep, laying on your bed with both our phones off – then I’m certain that the lord may not know best.

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~ by perfectionatrix on March 25, 2014.

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