untoward
By if pascoe
am i so still like this inanimate? lips i move to speak make but kisses, to hold your hand i would need your hand but also your permission, and i am scared. i am scared of feeling lost without seeing home in your eyes, i am scared of being a phone call, a movie, a restaurant when i am more. more than these walking sticks under breathing bags and digit palms, more than these blues. me and proposals is carbon under pressure; let me know i can breathe without rejection. Written May 8th, 2002 © on Feb 22 2002 07:39 AM PST 10 • 0 • 8
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"am i so still like this inanimate? ..."