Saturday, February 21, 2009

Hollow Musk

Nights like these are easy to find.
Rush of your musk. Rush of my
loneliness.
Rush of the smothering unsubsiding thoughts
of you.
or the idea of you.
sometimes i pretend.
i pretend that you are someone you aren't.
if i pretend, i can be happy.
(at least for the night).
I mold you and fit you,
twist you and turn you,
into my own version of cinderella.
But, when it's all done,
I'm missing both slippers instead of only one.
My feet are cold.
My heart is pounding.

Your hollow musk only turns circles in my stomach now.
I am still somehow empty.

it is the same kind of emptiness I feel even when you are inside of me.

1 comment:

  1. *ache*

    wow.

    --> suggestions. reconsider including "instead of only one"... you imply that baby by saying I'm missing both slippers (which is a beautiful line.)

    i'm confused about musk. what is that? By the way the first line haunts me

    and in the last line... the part that says "even when you are inside" consider changing that to... "even with you inside"? wait, no. never mind. work on the flow.

    i think this poem will haunt me for a long time. i want you to work on some of the wording, but the emotion... there.

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