Wednesday, July 9, 2014


in my little black book i 
sketch you sitting on 
the hotel bed playing your 
off key
out of tune
this is probably the happiest
i have ever been
perhaps ever will be
i never want to think 
of this again 

i left the book with the 
drawing behind
when I ran off
i wonder if you still have it
i doubt it
your glasses 
your tiny brown hands plinking
the creases in the corners 
of your smile
your legs beneath
your yellow dress
I draw you sitting 
on the bed
off key
out of tune
I never want 
to think of this 

the knife of it
the bottle of it 
the long sharp teeth of it 
the open palm of it
this false 
this flimsy
this easily burnt away
easily left behind
impossible to recover from 
with its flimsy strings
ever, ever

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