Friday, November 28, 2008


A changeling taking place, stonepiece,
lovepiece they all fit together under the guise 
of the perfect interview, the flawless
nature of their curves and apertures. 

Seventy-eight pages of emotion there bonded
with string, together on paper. Bind them up,
yellow room in the morning, you (the one) there asleep
in the bed, the lumps of your body just 
under the sheet, separating us for eternity. 

Our bruised Hearts communicate in a
morse code (lovers language), staccato 
beats through the open air. We are laid
off Lovers, a skill for which there is no
open position.  

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