Collecting the Cracks That Bleed Through My Voice.
We broke in two and it amused him that I was still counting...
I could hear the night whisper beyond his ears, the bed we lay ourselves down upon and
passion was considerate when his mind let go....
she was direct and unforgiving and I...
gave.in.
I could listen to the tumbling of my heart for ages and I collected music as my lips split
in half, it was only to kiss him, you see, only to allow him to know...
how I bled.
I tasted myself as the night wore on, exhausted yet hungry for his arms, I studied my own
in the afternoon, multiplied my freckles and wondered if my child would be ashamed of the
scars that decorated my skin, prayed she would never know how years could bite, so I
reached for him when the clouds became cold and I became...
scared...
as I frightened myself to death in the realization that we....
were still so alive.
The ground we walked on spoke of faults and mistakes, there were cracks in the earth yet
my hand still held his, he was clueless and I was silent but we slept well, he and I,
after passion erupted and the sky split...
when the clouds collected my music and rain sang, just to show him, how the days
could
bleed.
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