7
In the silence I can almost hear
you breathe. The walls exhale the
memory of your perfume. My hands
do not close without pause to
wonder where you have gone.
7
A violent shining hour and a box of
wine. The glitch of nicotine and
anxiety.
Words wind remotely. Hands flit
nervously
never landing. A plastic cup falls
spraying
concrete with watered down blood. But
all the
bleeding was internal.
7
Your are richer for the
dust on your skin. My kisses
bloom, darkening into momentary
shadows, the fine coating
of sunlight rippling
.
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