Wednesday, April 11, 2012

Day 8

The beat is slow. Perfect for a simple two step. Her body is short, awkward. and she attempts to smooth her hips in circles to the song but the movement is jagged like mountains when she wants it to roll like valleys.

She is the trust that I naively place in the general public.

I allowed her to rent space in the apartment of my heart for far too long without even a mention of rent,

the debts are an uncomfortable silence between us in the car, at the table, in between sets at shows.

When the music starts and her swaying wreaks of uncertainty, I don't mention it, like so many other things.

Because I bread my love in her freckled countenance
knowing she was born with the inability to keep a beat.

No comments:

Post a Comment