04 August 2012


We sit facing each other.

You keep telling me it's hot,
but I have goosebumps on my arms.

You have a knife so finely honed that I don't see it,
don't feel it,
not even when you've cut me,
until suddenly I am bleeding on the lawn and the darkness is falling
and you are gone.

We play encore like it's a game.

The man at the piano winks and urges us on
until you return, your arms wide.

It is beautiful but it doesn't matter.

I am bloodless and breathless,
and you never saw me at all.

(I'm throwing this against the wall to see if it sticks. Don't worry it you don't like it. I probably won't like in the morning either.)



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