Friday, March 26, 2004

my face against the fabric

my eyelashes brush the glass and the tears
pool in the lenses
frames smashed between my face
and a pillow
i fling them off and watch
the salty liquid roll away,
or, if left alone long enough,
evaporate in the sun
like blood in a vial
scars on an arm
meaningless love letters
the scent of her on my clothes

picture me trying to evoke her
long after the scent has faded.

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