fail polish eagles

you were seven when she leapt into the great yawning chasm

a gentle whirlpool discerned the sadness

it washed around you like the fabric of rocks

the air warm and thick with moisture from butterflies

you rose in bubbles without water-boundness

pressed in hot sand

they followed the scent of sunburn

they used bath towels for the hunt

another pouch of flesh pinned to the darkening sky

then he released your hand

cloud cover allowed glimpses of lovemaking

bodies swirling particles of fog and air

raindrops of blood and come

the same mingled pain

sweeping gently the clouds

across windows

looked murderous

clamped tight shut

in bashful eyes

untitled

butterflies, while he held the door open, went cold.

"real nervous, huh?"

lita bragged

that while this was the

first time she had ever

been nude in public, she

wasn't nervous.

"then what?"

now her face was childlike, her eyes afraid.

just as islands in the sea are often

born amidst fire and violence, so was

the room prepared to do whatever

violence to her feelings was necessary.

her mouth moved; she almost said it.

something nearly smothered inside

hearing the words. it's okay

it's okay.