ice

I take no notice of you as you sit down your solitary porcelain cup besides mine. No,
that is a lie. I smell your musk and it reminds me of my father’s cheap cigars, burning
softly beside him as he has fallen asleep on the couch, the television’s faint murmur in rhythm
with his breathing, the glow dancing on his puffed cheeks. I find no solace in the way
you move your hands across my shoulder, your dark eyes pleading. It will come to naught.
Like your name, I will forget your long brown limbs and the way you arch to scratch the back
of your legs as soon as you disappear into the unforgiving daylight outside my painted wooden door.

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About ky

Poet. Photographer. Writer. Goddess. View all posts by ky

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