Thursday, February 05, 2009

For You

Sun through the blinds onto your body.
Sweat running down your breasts, music
everywhere. Loud, bigger than God, bolder,
and my fingers wet with your taste.

This is something from another room,
from a different town, and I carry it with
me instead of your name. Instead of your

I stand at the window while you lie on
the bed. You touch yourself. You moan.
Things begin to fall apart.

1 comment:

S.L. Corsua said...

Sense memory, how powerful. Can be a sort of time-travelling 'experience,' when relived. ;) Cheers.