this was like last year and it was all that you said it would be;beer stains on your white, white dress behind the door someone puking the faultless impression you left on me with the blocks (and even as you were stacking them and i was
knocking them down) you said its (sigh) not my fault and i listened because i am as much a
fool as you take me for but the clipping of my teeth was a horse running blind to win and win and win until the losses don’t matter anymore. ... This is the whipping you gave me. This is the story you told me. This is the split from the middle, the crevice that
must widen with time- but still- you can hear my breath-
the fragrance of roses- my black face pressed tight against that
white, white dress and holding so close- you want to know.
fin
more coffee