Friday, October 29, 2010

sensory rejection

was only a frigid reminder.
i colored all the letters in
and whited out my name.

in the dark -i don't recall how often-
i turned over to see who,
pulling her hair from my face,
and wondered -almost aloud-
if she could taste you


something skittish
(like all my lovers
held lovingly
to my lovers' throat,
with all the
feverish precision,
that the strings
and redirect-
where coarse sands
navigate the slower
"moments" in time)
that will never end.