Monday, December 07, 2009


Bourbon glass, pencil resting beneath
the candle flicker while
love insane, improper, and
improbable sleeps above. My
couch holding a promise
that may yield stomach-knotting,
snot-dribbling sacrifice, but
why else do we ignite the
slender spinal thread of this
wax we call home? Tiny
flames comfort and release
fleshy prisons from the shelf. I
slide into you, and

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