Heat, she felt
as his fingers traced...
If I could write something pretty-
I imagine it would feel...
I
am not...
I can hear
the grating sound...
I think
if...
Sometimes
when I slip...
On a stormy Sunday,
when I'm eating chocolate kisses...
Tap water bubbles, and
hot water burns my skin...
In the dark sometimes I know I can
catch you with my eyes closed and a brain...
So much depends
upon...
Is lithe and small
And not really...
The wind whirls and grey
spirals twist my pupils...