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Board Administrator Username: mjm Post Number: 3783 Registered: 11-1998 |
Honorable Mention Orchid Against Stone Laurie Byro You didn't believe me. Being naïve I took a paintbrush to the wall and sucked the dry markings into the brush's nub of hair. You who appreciate details will ask if the brush were made of camel, sable or squirrel, if I were wearing those torn green tights you loved. I shall not confess the particularities that make me human. I'm having a problem with specifics lately. Whether the moon was waxing or waning, whether your hands were warm or stingy cold-the color of your eyes. I have no one else to please. Right before sleeping I have only this wild imagination. These vaporous fingers reaching in through this cold glass to fuck the covers under my chin. The white fist of the moon. |
