There were only antonyms. Sages facing away from the audience. The sparse wisdom of stupidity cutting newborn hearts in half. In big sips. From bottles bigger still. In vacations we never took. Beds we'd not shared. At bar we barely remembered. We became friends, but never lovers.
I couldn't love any of them sober even if I wanted to.
The moments mixing like cocktails. In tall glasses that saturate those tiny napkins we place under them. In blood that pours its words overlooked into the containers we've left. After everything is over.
I couldn't love anyone like this. I've tried.
I've devoured every fingernail. Twisted off all those caps. The turmoil of tomorrow arising in bittersweet fairy tales. Of princes bending down to kiss women not ready to wake up.
The lips on those moments moving too fast for me to read. I'm not deaf, but I may as well be. When you speak. I can't hear.
Don't know. What you're saying.
Wednesday
7/18/2007 12:53:00 AM
Sad Labels:
lovers
,
manic
,
philosophy
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