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By ~*Truelies*~ Date: 2001 Dec 01 Comment on this Work [[2001.12.01.12.43.6803]] |
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I lay sneezing beneath the blanket... 'You'd better not be contagious' he joked As he spooned me flu syrup. Then he kissed me and said, 'You look gorgeous when you're ill, I just love to take care of you.' Of course this is all fiction. The only trace of him here Was a tatty piece of paper With his scrawl in black ink saying, 'Got the train tickets. Call me at the Plaza.' The plaza... it was a joke of course, He was probably camping on someone's floor. He was never fussy on where he was going to reside On his 'trips'. I didn't know where he was going, Or with who he'd be or how to contact him. This was his way of keeping his freedom. This was his way of escaping. I light up a fag, Not good for my body, but good for my soul. I smoke more when he's away. I tap the ash into the luster decorated pot; Not intended as an ashtray but useful all the same. It was a wedding gift From our first attempt at marriage. We never tied the knot, But we never gave the gifts back either. I was willing, but he said no. He said that would emulate failure. This way we seemed as good as married. I look at the pot... If that's a symbol of marriage - I'm backing out now. |