If I could fall to my knees, perhaps I'd fall to my knees. I leave behind a film, like a snail along a leaf. Even when I try to escape, I'm easily found.
I can't hold it against you - not when you set them upon me to attack.
Someone believes in happy endings - happily ever after...
Rhythmic chaos like paint splashed on canvas Pollock-style.
Routine discipline like white noise.
It would go beyond a lasso, a bloodline, a transition, a coffee to keep him close. All of the shoes in the world, tucked neatly into boxes, clothes sorted into colors, pizza box in the kitchen, and they will always want to go to their new home.
Give me some cargo pants and wedge heels. I'll take a quick spin around your place with your ghost. I'll keep a tune in mind just for the occasion.
When we paint our story, they'll say to start light, work dark, highlight last. All of my colors get thrown into the bin and I forget how to let go.
I off, caught up in the black and white rain-soaked photograph.
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