Thursday, July 29, 2010


A casual kiss,
a puff of smoke,
you disappeared.

Your imagination warned you about the ice.
You swallowed the lie.
Believing what you want to believe is a dangerous business.

I will admit
--the bottle of Apathy hidden in the back of that cold and dusty cupboard--
I drowned my sorrows in her again and again.

The times I left her were discouraging.
The passion that resulted found me slamming your glass cage with forget-me-nots.
As you can imagine, there was no result, and I returned to Apathy, clasping her to my bosom like Cleopatra's asp.

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M is for Margaret, who was swept out to sea...