I drove towards the moon, sliced a piece off the round of cheese and swallowed it down. I drove with the windows open and the heat blasting: doing battle with winter air. And I stopped. I pulled my car over, under that dark sky, opened the door and danced on the black, wet road; because why the hell not; because one day I will be rotting under ground; because I've only danced on the side of the road once before.
I've got all of these silences tucked in my pockets and I can't give them away for trying. They keep returning to me, unchanged. I'm all wordless and floundering. Still.
When, I wonder, does fear buckle under the possibility of relief? When does it not feel like loosing a layer of skin at the thought of saying, "I'm so afraid of 'this'"?
You've got me thinking in love scented sentences, but I've been here before, and there's the rub, my dear. There's the rub.
The trinity of past, present, future - of was me, is me, will be, take turns arguing their case. Those bastards have stolen all my words and I've nothing left for you, but that look I make when I bite my lip and you ask me what I'm thinking.
Tonight, I'm full of the moon. I pull on the tides and set the wolves howling. Oww, oww, oww owww.
Your skin is so soft. How'd you get it so soft?
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4 comments:
Wow. Glory, glory. :)
cocao butter
Now I have that song in my head : )
It's purty. :)
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