((from eight o clock, the days go downhill.))
2005-08-01 9:04 a.m.
before this, we are
kissing on the lips as i
pull on my pants, jumping a little in my short limbs
and i say i'll call him
later
then there's the accomplishment
that waits in preparation
a shower
a conversation with the cat
god, i'm fucking lonely
pretend. pretend.
call houses on the way to work
a cover up
loose cannon
don't you go moving your mouth like you've ever meant a word of this
forgive me, old friend, i almost told
someone about us.
and i will be cynical, with my marching feet
spread slightly, as though combat were an option, while we
huddled over our guerilla tactics, which were
more rumor than reality.
and when you see me, amassed in feelings,
it will get harder to admit you ever knew me.
(they always tell me, every one, that what was attractive was the fragility, the sheerness of my skin, my hard jaw making contrast along with my thin lips
but i always knew what would happen, if i were to lose control of it. i knew that at that moment, i would be unable to ever find them.
and i make checklists in my sleep, the men that were interested in the idea of protection, the bastards waiting to give notice when the curse set in.)