you bled your blues and
greens, outstretched on my
bed, you backstroked through
the stars and the planets fell in
line with your vertebrae, swept
the centauri beneath your elbows
and comets swam thigh-high like
sharks or pistols, armed by your
disgrace, I think, you always
expected me to shoot first.
Oct 9, 2014
Oct 9, 2014 at 10:24 PM UTC
you bled your blues and
greens, outstretched on my
bed, you backstroked through
the stars and the planets fell in
line with your vertebrae, swept
the centauri beneath your elbows
and comets swam thigh-high like
sharks or pistols, armed by your
disgrace, I think, you always
expected me to shoot first.
(c) Brooke Otto 2014
