~ staying afloat, a day at a time ~

Sunday, March 9, 2014

there is something to be said
about him
he, whose hands tremble
he, who noticed you in a room without walls
her tears and mascara make a muck of
good sheets
sheets worn weary of the thoughts of many
laying awake past their time
it is her who adheres to things not said out loud
it is her who sighs when she ought moan
and yet, he chooseth her
it is by first light that he outlines her lips
and she deflects all who may have come before
she hates that he need tremble
before or after.

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