Sunday, May 25, 2014

All My Nightshirts Are the Ones You Bought for Me

I have swum laps across the desert.
Now I leave the evidence away.


At midnight, I have sugared something in the house.
I lie awake remembering what is not sweet.


The person closest to my psyche introduced hell
as my destination after saying it did not exist.


"Okay, so sell me the bridge; we'll worry about
contracts after the fact when I feel interested."


When we sleep, we sleep with selves who know our breathing.
No need to measure, for it loves and leaves itself.

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