Sunday, August 09, 2009

Paper Waits

Like one of those old moving
pictures, black and white but
no greys. The fox draped over
her snow white arm, the
royalty of malleable
substances, crowns made of
gold, jewels like candy, laces
around powdered necks.

Her eyes glazed over with
July smells, automobiles in
passing and the open windows
that let them in. She stared
somewhere between horizon
and slippers and skirt hem and
folded knees, waiting without

The only girl who could sigh
and smile at the same time
looked down at the indelible
marks of single nights blotting
her nail polish, stained skin.
Anachronisms allowed in times
of naked wrists while Godeau
laid across her arm, sniffing and
licking at something she believes

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