Thursday, April 28, 2011


The quiet hurts, make it softer.

The night is there and always

present, in her ears and a comb

in her hair. His fingers.

The dark is long, The stars forgot

their shine—tarnished gray marks

scattered in the sky, the black

blanket she can’t pull down to warm

her single body, the blanket that won’t

fall away, revealing light.

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