Sunday, October 4, 2015

i gathered your hair in my hand like
taming medusa's snakes, 
your neck out for teeth.

the twitching strings of a marionette or
trembling fishing line when there's 
something really good on the other end.

disappointed as the storm
veers back out to sea, we unpacked our rain boots
for dry streets. 
i bruise every time anything touches me, 
i cannot decide if it is anemia
or poetry.

you should see the sheets when we're finished, 
stained and hanging from the window,
like a white flag.

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