Wednesday, September 15, 2010

I. II. III.

I.
 All is a pattern of repeating greyness. In my city nothing is concrete. We lay in one another’s arms despite my heart’s weary creak in the darkness. It is what you want or you wouldn’t reach for it. It is what I find when I look right in front of my self.
II. 
Your picture is on my window. You are looking down; your smile and I say I love you I love you I love you each time I see it. So much will I always love you master of my happiness my Justin. I don’t see disaster any more. It was there without knowing what it was it was there for. Now there’s just denim, your face, gazing down, your smile. 
III.
I don’t know you at all. Can someday you come to me and say, lady all in green you are a terrible thing, haunting my dreams with your eyes and your teeth? I don’t know you at all. Can someday I come to you say, this is what I’ve waited to do remove your glasses and look into your blooming blue irises? The bend of your neck or the time that we spoke or the time that we gazed or the time that you kissed my--

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