Vinegar

she waits for the blizzard. knowing it is coming. eventually. absent pigs in the huff of the wolf. small houses blown down. nothing inside them. except the ghosts that refuse to leaves.

we have our choices. in the crouches of flames. the hot and cold. in their oblivious juxtapositions. as if we're just peripheral. don't matter at all.

the atom on her smile. colliding. with the ones from her stare. the explosion has its merits. but those pieces. they always come back together. there is no cheating the monsters. as they are the same as us.

there are no lies that we can tell them. our truths are what they are made of. joyless propositions. dents in the sand. as we sway. as our kites lose their strings. and we watch them. leaving us.

broken tiles underfoot. turning over. empty boxes in the attic.