Tuesday, October 5, 2010

About the Younger Man / Conjugal extinction

Dear Mister Processed Nectar,


Our love was a ritual, like a head placing itself
inside an oven each day. One day, I passed. Another day and
more often, you did.


My forests are now one wild village and they speak the same
language; there's more wind between the trees, and rivers
when we arrive.


For his love is but a perfect cigarette burn; he's taught me to blow
rings and go around them too.





4 comments:

ɳɪα said...

Whoa.
I think this is something brilliant after a big break.
Um, long time I mean.
:D

Jay Niner said...

girl, you are an addiction and a delight.

Lucifer said...

My my my.

I wish.

Pranav K said...

beautiful. "taught me to blow rings and go around them too"