My heart beats hard, palpitating against my will -- and yours, it would appear. You've left me emarginate, like the chip in the good dish, the last blank in the crossword puzzle. I'd fly away, but I traded my brilliant wings for a single filoplume, so that I could afford to keep you warm. The oppressive heat of home has taken the place of your icy arms, and yet I can't help longing for a return to yesterday. I'm not sure I've found the solution; that is to say, I'm sure I haven't found it yet. So for now I'll walk around with this problem on my body like a tattoo, like a constellation of bug bites on my left hipbone. And we'll see if you find the courage to open up once more.
No comments:
Post a Comment