Miss Rice (_onlysky_) wrote,
Miss Rice

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Touch me where I'm rusting, let me stain your hands ...

i give it three drinks
before the conversation
becomes confessions

the penance here
will simply be
the morning after,
a vauge recollection
of what was said
and (not) done.

friendship is actually
a convention of pivoting,
a transition from trust
to intimacy, from lust
to love, or what appears
to be them.

when his mouth opens,
and it begins, first
with those mumbles of her,
the other,
i become
that girl
to anyone who overhears and
doesn't stick around.
i'm not.

quickly, the truths
snowball, melt, waterrush
and standing sober,
steadfast, i'm
that my words not make
too many promises.


(i want to say)
i don't sleep with him
because i don't love him
(because i love him too much)

[i had another stanza and i forgot it]

some stones are never meant to be cast.


very in progress, it took me over a week to get this out, needs a lot of work, but some initial feedback would be great.

Tags: poetry, summer 06

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