Sunday, June 12, 2016

So smooth (scanned notebook)

So smooth, my fingers slip each time
I grasp -- you cant steal something you
can't pick up. You can't touch something
that isn't real. I used to admire boys
who learned how to dance, edging as
close to unreality as reality might
allow, fingers entwined, chest pressing
chest, guessing at which point they might
make contact with the beyond -- all they
need to worry about is keeping their
feet from stumbling over your feet,
a hard concept when the they can feel
you breath so close and their minds
delving deep where they ache to go

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