I'm left alone for a week of Tuesdays. Echoes of thickened rain leave me feeling sleep-drunk. I write, and re-write, a letter to an old lover with saudade urgency. Scratches on my doorframe are just confusing. I dig out old pictures and have to hold back an overwhelming sadness. The grim determination of a refrigerator moppet. A white dress by midnight lamplight. Blonde, sunlit strands in distant gardens. I expel my lust onto the dirty floor, and crumple up imperfect-- insufficient-- words.
11:09 a.m. - 2017-04-17
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Tossi Propter - 2018-07-02
Summerscorch - 2018-07-02
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