Screaming again,
and dissolving
particle by particle,
little
electronic
bits and memory
like colors in
your head,
like the colors of your
eyes,
like the way your neck
smells like
metal,
like stars are pinholes
in black velvet.
You say metaphores
are only as good as
you make them,
only as good as you
bake them
like cookies....
You smile when you say it,
you smile when you mean it...

I know when you said you loved
me you meant
only on mondays
only on
holidays
and leap year.

Only when the weather is good.
Only when your bones dont hurt
and mine
dont show,

only when I wear red
lipstick
or walk with a slant
or
talk with a chant.

Only
when
I love you can cure it all.

When it cant

then you exit and tell me
its my fault.

Tell me that maybe I
should have
been eating more,
should
have kept my eyes clearer,
should
have pulled the shower
curtian across
so that it could
dry properly.

That I should have
said I love you more often
and followed
your footsteps
to the edge and over.

01/22/2002

Posted on 01/22/2002
Copyright © 2024 Vikki Owens