stutter, stutter, full step, full trip, an eyeball twisting about, where’s the comma in that?
and parallels: a dog chewing the scruff of its neck, a vague release, an itch about to be scratched but somehow lost in the translation.
great walls and pit falls, a wisp of hair caught between lips and a cough that interrupts deep sleep. I’ve always been lost at this point, where the exits become further apart and names have become numbers.
she says beds are for sleeping and not much else, a sour note that hints at aggravation and disappointment and I twist and turn and squirm and I am four again where all I heard was the sound of her weeping and him falling asleep soundly exhausted and satisfied and vile.
this is so inappropriate. she would say that. this isn’t fit for writing.