|
{keepsakes} coleen shin The offensive things, the artifacts made before you the chipped, dust heavy bowls made of river clay from poisonous Louisiana bayous- the crumbling books tucked with their book bugs in remote, stale rooms to protect them, to protect you. All is at odds with your love of history, war and evolution. I wonder less now, why you care so little for mine likening it to a dinner theater mystery. While truth is, I conspire with the mouse, with frail legged garage spiders our secret lives rich and dark and without motive other than to be exactly the modest genus of scurry of slipped shadow, we are, the hustle ahead of us of the crumbs required for our survival. I could survive without you If I had to, without the askance or censure or the way your hand cups my cervical vertebrae to kiss me that melting bondage that has everything to do with the rampant tingle of nerve endings, the wistful sex - the mountain dirges you listen to, making me certain somehow, I must have failed you too. |
