Sleepy Tree
Greenlighter
Ending Number 10
From the other side of the door I could hear her breath. Face red from post-exit impact, dulled by substance and apathy. Or perhaps apathy was the substance.
A chuckle escapes.
"What's so fucking funny?"
Waggishly, the circumstances that I create.
Cold air, 352 steps from where I was, an eternity.
One down, I said
The doorman glanced over, an undertaker, "What?"
I turned my back to the crypt and her body.
The next one was different. Like molten gold.
The novacious love.
She bathed in sunlight's sanguine splendor. Her walls acting as a time machine, I wish I could die here and haunt her.
It hung about her lazily, beauty, grace, the dark marks of existence scattered with precision across skin.
A Cheshire smirk, and she spoke...
"I was wondering when you'd be back"
It was a long walk
"You're going to get killed or mugged or- you can't just-why would you-", I grabbed her," go off without saying anything?" She articulated these last words with a mockery of conviction.
I saw that I had mistaken concern for righteous anger.
She knows how to gut me best.
The friction of skin and soft promises.
I've always wondered how a Buddha feels the morning after enlightenment. Can it match the feeling of watching her get ready for work? A naked young girl going through the holy scriptures of preparation. A dab of perfection here, just a hint of narcissism, colors like an antediluvian spring.
The phone rings.
"It's your brother"
Fantastique
Yes, I'll come to dinner next week.
Yes, I'll be sober.
No, I won't forget.
She has to leave for work. I can stay if I want.
A kiss and a whisper, "There's an 80 on the counter"
Good news.
I love you
"Bullshit"
The door closes.
From the other side of the door I could hear her breath. Face red from post-exit impact, dulled by substance and apathy. Or perhaps apathy was the substance.
A chuckle escapes.
"What's so fucking funny?"
Waggishly, the circumstances that I create.
Cold air, 352 steps from where I was, an eternity.
One down, I said
The doorman glanced over, an undertaker, "What?"
I turned my back to the crypt and her body.
The next one was different. Like molten gold.
The novacious love.
She bathed in sunlight's sanguine splendor. Her walls acting as a time machine, I wish I could die here and haunt her.
It hung about her lazily, beauty, grace, the dark marks of existence scattered with precision across skin.
A Cheshire smirk, and she spoke...
"I was wondering when you'd be back"
It was a long walk
"You're going to get killed or mugged or- you can't just-why would you-", I grabbed her," go off without saying anything?" She articulated these last words with a mockery of conviction.
I saw that I had mistaken concern for righteous anger.
She knows how to gut me best.
The friction of skin and soft promises.
I've always wondered how a Buddha feels the morning after enlightenment. Can it match the feeling of watching her get ready for work? A naked young girl going through the holy scriptures of preparation. A dab of perfection here, just a hint of narcissism, colors like an antediluvian spring.
The phone rings.
"It's your brother"
Fantastique
Yes, I'll come to dinner next week.
Yes, I'll be sober.
No, I won't forget.
She has to leave for work. I can stay if I want.
A kiss and a whisper, "There's an 80 on the counter"
Good news.
I love you
"Bullshit"
The door closes.
