I found it there where it had been left on its side, silently tilting.
Goldenly perfect it began to move. Wondering what it was and where it was from, my eyes made it mine. Shivering from within, the luminous slithering form grabbed at the earth with sheltered fists, making its way with careful sincerity to where I stood. Waiting.
Your hope.
Your hope makes me smash at this carbonized form.
Breathing to break free. Desperate for sorrow.
These legs that hold me? They were arms a minute ago.
And a minute from now they'll be the air you bring deep into your dark depths.
It can't be helped.
Fragrant with waves that taste of Spring [it said]: Hope.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------->
The days are cold.
The nights are smothered with scarves and the hush of expectations whispered into bottomless glasses. Old friendships run to ground, gasping their last breaths, bellies leaking sugared secrets into the malted surf.
"Talk straight," he said.
"I do. All week long. But on days when the sun meets me halfway, I like to hum."
"Fine, but as long as you're humming..."
[Remember]
Good things come in threes.
12 comments:
beautiful distant prose. xox
thank you, clair. xx
I want your words to elope with me,
but I'd die if they knew...don't let on?
of course, pen. your secret is safe with me. mums the word.
Your words make it better, MissC. x
there's a reason i die when i read you. (and it's not because of your botticelli hair and rosebud lips. although both are very compelling reasons for poetic death.)
ladyb: oh? that's a lovely sort of thing to say. it's so hard to make anything at all better at times isn't it? thank you.
illyria: you will make my pink cheeks neon with such praise! and for goodness sakes, no dying. unless it's in the good sort of way.
indeed. sweet prose.
and i'm not just saying that to get into your pants. again.
of course not, liam. you're too much the gentleman and don't have to use such tricks in relation to pants or anything else.
You remind me of me - about forty years ago. Yo.
victoria-- I'll gladly be the pupa to your butterfly.
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