February 18
Most mornings I wake warm,
marked by my jape as owned. She
is coffee with real
cream, fruit that tastes
like fruit. She is rain that falls sideways
instead of just straight down, air
that smells like alive. They drag me
to the showers, hurt me
with water until I smell
like the nothing they've got inside,
and in the night she reclaims me
and I dream of bus station
bathrooms, broken stall doors,
scribbled words from strangers
CL Bledsoe
Posted over on Right Hand Pointing
No comments:
Post a Comment