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By CordovaGirl Date: 2004 Jan 20 Comment on this Work [[2004.01.20.03.44.12341]] |
| In the mindless folding and unfolding of denim material, I watch discarded clothes travel to fitting room floors, and remember mine on hotel bedding, flung in impatient waiting against limited time. And I can't figure out how to differentiate between expensive and cheap living as I place markdowns on isolated racks, remembering each hour here pays off a fraction of time spent with you. I'd rather spend the hours counting freckles on your arm than the money piled in the cash drawer, sleeping nude against you and cheap cotton sheets, yet know round-trip tickets won't allow me the moment for long. I come back to this, a seven dollar an hour nightmare where my college degree doesn't even relate, but I realize it gives me a moment of your arms, a moment of silence under out-of-state skies, and a moment of sanity as I try to figure out how to organize all the areas of my life into one big pile of reasoning. I imagine this as our playground for cheap thrills, from counter to fitting rooms to folding tables, using expensive outfits as bedding that still isn't as expensive as time. And as I try to figure ways out of this clothing madness, I realize that every hassle, every paid hour leads me back to you. And it all suddenly seems worth the nightmare, knowing that sooner or later, I'll wake up against those cheap, seven dollar an hour cotton sheets, counting every freckle on your arm while you kiss it all away again. |