Whisper winds blow dusty nights into clear mornings.
The red hot water bottle, a Christmas gift, sits warm and quivering on my aching belly. A shedding moon brings on the blood and I'm once again rewarded in red.
I can't swallow a bite save for the miracle elixir that is hot chocolate. Say the words and say them slow: h.o.t c.h.o.c.o.l.a.t.e. Piping with a little powdered sugar and served to be savored; I know where my comforts lie.
The baby ferns sit coiled in their glass house; they throw spores, not stones. Accompanied by the violets that remind me of moist Baltimore summers. You breath the air and you feel like you are being water-boarded.
It's perfect how I never think of him anymore...except right now because I just this second did. Creaking eaves shake loose the settled feeling that I have now that your absence has let my heart forget and move on. I don't like you as a person. That is ok I suppose. I want someone else entirely, someone who can drink their coffee black, with cream, iced or sweetened and doesn't have to ask why.
Don't be a thirty year old man who makes poor life decisions because you feel you've been backed in to a corner. There is no corner: the earth is round, the Milky Way is round, the solar system is fucking round. There are no real corners so figure it out.
Eyelids heavy, hot water bottle heavy.
