I think of you. Your herpes-touch that crosses my eyelids
with chlamydia fingernails accenting in all the
wrong places. The white powder trail leading like a
highway to your right nostril—the unemployment rate
like a dropped lit cigarette in the ********* apartments available. I think of you.
I think of you.
I thought of you.
Apr 3, 2014
Apr 3, 2014 at 1:14 AM UTC
I think of you. Your herpes-touch that crosses my eyelids
with chlamydia fingernails accenting in all the
wrong places. The white powder trail leading like a
highway to your right nostril—the unemployment rate
like a dropped lit cigarette in the ********* apartments available. I think of you.
I think of you.
I thought of you.
I want nothing more than to be done with you.
Written about my hometown, Powell River.
