Monday, October 7, 2013

waiting for the coffee to cool.
waiting for the coffee to cool.

i have seen her crying in my bed, several times, different beds.
i am happy, i am sad, i am listening to tears
uncomfortably laying in my windpipe
snagged on wet leaves.
touching her shoulder like a damp washcloth, like an egg shell.
cautious and suspicious and gingerly, like something i don't know the 
consistency of.

now, here's the question-
what was real and what was just
a memory

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