she rambled through midnight,
shoes more white-tar *****
than black leather,
avoiding destinations,
washed palms
not unfamiliar with
stakes being grounded
near the wrong type of hearth.
standing half-drunk,
on scorched oxygen epilogues,
her cheeks deserted,
feet knuckling homeward,
wrists unveiled by calamities,
she’d pour shrapnel
into her scrapes,
wrongs cast in iron,
and
he would trace
her scars like
a roadmap,
but always left
by morning—
twilight strangers
in a cold, perfect sunset.
freckles holy,
lights heady,
moon painfully
indifferent.
Oct 27, 2013
Oct 27, 2013 at 10:20 PM UTC
she rambled through midnight,
shoes more white-tar *****
than black leather,
avoiding destinations,
washed palms
not unfamiliar with
stakes being grounded
near the wrong type of hearth.
standing half-drunk,
on scorched oxygen epilogues,
her cheeks deserted,
feet knuckling homeward,
wrists unveiled by calamities,
she’d pour shrapnel
into her scrapes,
wrongs cast in iron,
and
he would trace
her scars like
a roadmap,
but always left
by morning—
twilight strangers
in a cold, perfect sunset.
freckles holy,
lights heady,
moon painfully
indifferent.
