Paul Simon is a rock in the background, peppery liquid running down my throat. The smell of burning paper pervades my nostrils, and yet another day passes in the same way thousand others have, and I move a day closer to ...?
For me you contain within you
All my perfume, all my bile, and all my disfigured cells.
For me you take a shape
And gently melt when I ask you to.
2 comments:
Catch you in two weeks, gal. Me off to Delhi. Take care. Muah.
bye sweetheart.
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