a stab

June 10, 2007

stepping down from fantasies
skies splitting and committing
crimes of passion
the way the
grass is in the moonlight
bare legs gilded gold
in firesparks and laughter
don’t come home; i can’t
condone this behavior
a stinging jab, a stab
my fingers
grabbing tight to the edge
of my bag
alighting from
silver carriages on summer nights
a thought of you as
chalky moths passing by
jerking frantically in a panicked
all around the ceiling fan
i don’t know if i can
i can’t

no, please
it’s not that i don’t
love you
but i
well i
i can’t.


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