I like old glass windows,
how they’ve blurred and frosted over
looking like the back of a used postage stamp
everything behind them a shadow.
I laid in a conservatory, a glasshouse,
after ruining your relationship.
The green things just barely hid me:
I wished I had been some place more antique
less inhabited, less cared for.
I wished I had not been seen.
Leaves danced out insults, all were true,
*** tourist, homewrecker, and everyone knew
because I became proud to have hurt her
when I had only meant to hurt you.
To run would have been preferable
although wine-colored flora may tango up my
ankles, spiral to the belly of my heels.
You know how my feet seemed ******
in the red Georgia clay?
Yet the arch remained clean, elevated by itself?
That is how I was,
ripe and daisyed in a surrounding brick.
I wished I had not been seen,
rather purchased a futon set that is not more
than a silhouette behind stained glass
and ended myself as well I as did you and her.
May 21, 2013
May 21, 2013 at 1:30 PM UTC
I like old glass windows,
how they’ve blurred and frosted over
looking like the back of a used postage stamp
everything behind them a shadow.
I laid in a conservatory, a glasshouse,
after ruining your relationship.
The green things just barely hid me:
I wished I had been some place more antique
less inhabited, less cared for.
I wished I had not been seen.
Leaves danced out insults, all were true,
*** tourist, homewrecker, and everyone knew
because I became proud to have hurt her
when I had only meant to hurt you.
To run would have been preferable
although wine-colored flora may tango up my
ankles, spiral to the belly of my heels.
You know how my feet seemed ******
in the red Georgia clay?
Yet the arch remained clean, elevated by itself?
That is how I was,
ripe and daisyed in a surrounding brick.
I wished I had not been seen,
rather purchased a futon set that is not more
than a silhouette behind stained glass
and ended myself as well I as did you and her.
