Wednesday, June 23, 2010

She even promised herself she wouldn't write about him

She is three weeks from lonely
her honey isn't as sweet as it use to be
she use to kind of sing her words
like Billie's vibrato over strings
you could slow dance
under a half moon to her metaphor
but that was before
now she has coal rimmed eyes
and nothing on her lips but smudged
disappointment
He made flowers drink heavily
and lightening bugs catch fire mid flight
but he will be remembered as nothing special
by her ink.

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