Sta.sh
I hear the coughing at four or five in the morning
when i ease through the black crack in the doorway to your room.
your skinny throat grumbling agian like a steeple crashing into your lungs.
Sometimes i feel my hands are sewn behind my back my darling.
Sometimes i see you trembling, glistening with crystals, like a closed fist too
tight for me to squeeze through.
Sometimes i feel your skin like an empty emberless furnace, cold and hard
and when i saw an ant creeping up the bone on your shoulder in the dark
to crush it
i pressed my skin to your skin
and i held and i held and i held.
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Always a pleasure reading your thoughts.
bring back pictures? i'd like to see things.
i'm ok. ..no matter what i may say later.
I have not posted a proper one in a while. But I'm still featuring people because I think it's become my job around here. [link] You were mentioned here but you weren't around.
i'll be around more these days. l'll try.
We need you around. Or maybe it's just me.
this bit of writing is unusually fragile for you, it seems
and i like it that way.
you always come up with some wonderful imagery too (the steeple part especially.)
prettty pretty.