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By Rhetoric Date: 2003 Jun 12 Comment on this Work [[2003.06.12.17.59.20422]] |
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he haunts me with his breath on my neck smelling of citrus and tobacco - he is summer, wildly hot and humid as fog I sit close to let it stain my skin there is no showmanship, no dance of lovers just the lazy lull of listlessness this way, it is easy for me to go on with my character charade of solitude I notice only the fabric of his shirt his pants are creased, sitting and sweating the hair on his toes is thick and black sandals the shutters, to the feet's secrets how colorful, shiny and round his cheeks are compared to the cracked walls and flaking of plaster the way it bubbles and drops in sections to the dirty floor below it must happen at night, for I never see - and yet each day I come to take in his breaths, there it is on the tiles and cemented mortar for months now, these are my memories how I pass the moments, I do not know others would take notice of the filth and crane for the exit light I am happy to sit and bathe in the smell of this man, whom I do not know with legs that show scars and wear and teeth smaller and more crooked than a child it is the dark and safe place inside me craving a bit of earth and must and, his skin glows with a palate of hues |