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By j. knipp Date: 2005 Dec 05 Comment on this Work [[2005.12.05.03.20.7556]] |
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It happens every time around now. As though the tug of the moon is pulling me out of my follicles, strand by strand. I look at this crescent, a thin curved line. And those thoughts of you, always of you. Perhaps it was because the moonlight drew slats across your body as you lounged like a goddess, peering through to the outside. We would reside like hibernating bears in that den, more than anywhere. A refuge, somehow safe. It was small and cramped. A worn little bed. A beam in the box spring broke that one night... But it happens each time around now. A winter solstice--winter rendevous. Thoughts of you. What ifs and crazy hopes... "Honest Good byes only work once or twice and than they are lies..." Lies? Do you know every time I am in the room with you my stomach is a Gordian knot? Lies... I agree, my face is a lie, my mouth and its words are lies, my soul is a lie this path is a lie. Perhaps everything but these eyes lie. No, not these eyes, when your are in the room, I don't think they will lie, I don't think they can. |