|
|
|
|
Nocturne
Sore eyes. they feel like an endless camouflage.
she wakes up to see the beginning of a day already lost;
catching the paper dove would have been too easy
hungover from love, she wants to go shower
but she’s too tired and her lips are too dry
her eyes hurt, her skin is dry, her arm hurts as she writes.
blah blah fucking blah.
she wants to write an email, tell him it’s over
what’s over? she doesn’t know
she wants to walk to his house, stare at the outside
maybe sit on the lawn and wait till he finds her.
the rain subsided but she still feels cold.
she’s been wearing the same shirt for 36 hours
she has a lot of work to do but doesn’t want to do it
she doesn’t want to get out of bed.
rubs her eyes again and again
she dances with him, he asks her to dance
he kisses her “entrancingly,” he tells her
he loved her all along
she coughs, the sun turns to shroud the room in blue.
she is an ice skating queen twirling and whirling
smooth smooth expanse of smooth white
she sighs and scratches her nose.
I am this person she says. this is the real me.
he looks at her and is surprised...
I’m sick of trying and explains she says
she smiles “uncannily” while he’s not sure what to say.
the agenda of non-planners has scared her
aimlessly the ink communicates with the page;
she scratches the bits of paper out of the binding
blah blah fucking blah.
bravenet.com