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Literature Text
He drinks a glass of red wine every night before bed.
He always uses the same glass.
It would be perfect, if not for the crack that runs up its fragile stem to flower against the rim, the shivering petals opening into jagged chips, just to the left of his lips.
It's still beautiful.
Just like him.
*
I bought him a new set for his birthday last year.
You would think they were invisible if it weren’t for that layer of dust that found them, even in the cabinet above his sink.
He can’t seem to find a good enough reason to get a new one, or one he likes any better. (he tells me) But I know he cut himself on the rim, and stood staring, as his blood slipped across its surface. He still has the scar.
He cries salt every night for the sake of being picky.
*
They drank a glass of wine every night before bed, watching the sun set on the water washed cliffs, and drove home smiling in the fading glow of yellows and gold.
Until one night,
when they never quite made it home.
*
Only one glass survived.
It had lipstick on the rim.
*
He goes to bed sober,
and washes her cup every morning.
He always uses the same glass.
It would be perfect, if not for the crack that runs up its fragile stem to flower against the rim, the shivering petals opening into jagged chips, just to the left of his lips.
It's still beautiful.
Just like him.
*
I bought him a new set for his birthday last year.
You would think they were invisible if it weren’t for that layer of dust that found them, even in the cabinet above his sink.
He can’t seem to find a good enough reason to get a new one, or one he likes any better. (he tells me) But I know he cut himself on the rim, and stood staring, as his blood slipped across its surface. He still has the scar.
He cries salt every night for the sake of being picky.
*
They drank a glass of wine every night before bed, watching the sun set on the water washed cliffs, and drove home smiling in the fading glow of yellows and gold.
Until one night,
when they never quite made it home.
*
Only one glass survived.
It had lipstick on the rim.
*
He goes to bed sober,
and washes her cup every morning.
Literature
Undelivered
or:
how to write to peter
i. sprinkle pixie dust on
one feather of a whisper
ii. blow a kiss to nudge
the dictations of your heart
from a fourth-story windowsill
iii. crawl (sloth-toed) onto the roof
& stretch your third eye
to watch your letter cross state lines
iv. shiver restlessly until
v. suddenly!
vi. you feel your feather of a whisper
nestle in his concave
mailbox:
the space where his left collarbone meets his neck strings
"if i were you i would want me back"
Literature
why all psychics are cheaters:
loving you--
battleship with a
mind reader:
my missiles
always miss you; i
miss you more.
you win
why do i
play games i know i'll
always lose ?
probably
because i'm playing
against you
Literature
M_SS_NG
_ w_sh _ may,
_ w_sh _ m_ght;
_ w_sh _ could
rega_n my s_ght:
_ saw your face;
_ gasped and tossed
my glance your way.
my eyes got lost.
"you have my eyes."
"f_nders keepers."
"how _mmature."
"losers weepers."
you wear my eyes
l_ke pa_rs of pants.
roll_ng them or
throw_ng a glance.
but jokes on you!
cos the f_rst t_me
_ saw that face,
Beauty struck me--
BL_ND
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He falls asleep at 3 am, to the sound of her voice in his ear, and the flash of ambulance lights in his eyes.
And it is never his blood he sees against the glass, but hers, as he replays the feel of her hand in his, as she takes her last convulsive breath.
This sounded better in my head.
And it is never his blood he sees against the glass, but hers, as he replays the feel of her hand in his, as she takes her last convulsive breath.
This sounded better in my head.
© 2009 - 2024 TheAfterWhys
Comments89
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and o, very sensual in parts. work on that angle of it.