The Pontificators

I have used you as a crying shoulder. Your harsh coldness complemented my sadness, and you added drama to a mundane misery. I have fallen on you. Trying to walk, soaked in liquor; you left marks on my skin when you slapped me with your jagged edges.

I like you when you are in the shade, cool and smooth on a hot day. Like that length of you that runs outside his door. I like to walk there. You accommodate me when I skip and spin and stand on the tip of my toes so I can kiss his cheek.

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 28th, 2009 at 6:04 am and is filed under Ashes, Naomi. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.