Why We Do It

November 26, 2011
By
More by this author
Your taste, thick like cotton in my mouth.
I want to memorize each startled gasp, each exhale.

Pretty, so pretty, you said, fingers winding through my hair
So pretty, you said, running a hand down my side
Pretty, you whispered into my neck


The wind slapped my face, burned it;

the trees, swaying, sighed knowingly;

and the earth wept, dampening the soil you laid me down on.


I am ashamed of your heat in me, your weight on me.

But one cheek pressed into the dead leaves,
a passive partner in your methodic dance,


I felt, for a moment,
a tiny, wonderful moment,

I felt almost pretty.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback