Curiosity, or The Art of Silent Conversation

You're a good friend.

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He cut her loose, so he ran. He ran as hard as he could, through walls and corridors of open air freshness. He ran harder than he could, his muscles rushing forth to drag his ailing faltering body along. His lungs split at the seam, and his heart rode to his head.

She stood waiting when he turned the corner home, holding up to the glow of a streetlight one thread she hid away, so she'd always find him when he wasn't looking.

Priscilla

"News is, she's back in town again. All the boys are begging for her."

"And what about her?"

-

She just wants to pull at smokestrings, and decorate their pretty little skulls with pearl necklaces.

Stacks

Whatever could it be that has brought me to this loss?

He stubbed the cigarette out, and stood in place, staring at his shoes. Another year, another memory. A card, a sweater, a picture. Chocolates. Flowers. A purple poker chip. They were no different, but they weren't quite the same. The wine was still surging through his mind, like the pressure on his lips. Seven years, and still no trace, but the sensation remained.

He breathed mist, holding a photograph in one hand, fire in the other. The smile on her face hurt him, as the flames licked her skin till it burned his fingertips. He stayed to watch the celluloid char cool down, bent like their souls on a warm winter night. He could set fire to her, year after year, but It would not make him forget. Her kiss would still linger in his skin, until the day he'd find her, and have her kiss him again.

Your love will be safe with me.

The One, Single Objective Truth

He stopped playing, so she stopped writing.

Now, all they do is dance with questions marking tear-stained cheeks, holding each other's lies close to each other's chests, holding each other closer still.

What's the point of this song? Or even singing...

In This Light

We'll sail away, as the water lays under our skies.

I Know This Won't Count for Much

Rough hands slide over soft eyes. The stench of blood and sweat dances with her supple skin, and he drains into a puddle in her lap. His tears are stars on her night sky dress. She runs her hands through his hair, and coos comfort in his ear.

"Let's just live through this night."

We Slept In Parking Lots

I made a lot of mistakes.

Sway

"Come. Dance with me."

"No thanks. You know I don't do dancing."

"I don't believe that, you know. You're the coolest person in this place. How could you not dance?"

"Watch me."

And so he stood, not dancing, coolly leaning against the beam, smoking his smoke while she was drinking her drink. They stayed in place, like weary statues, till the house lights came on, and the party went off.

He heaved a sigh, and held out his hand.

"Care to dance now?"

She did not refuse. She knew he only danced when no one was watching.

Into The Mirror.

"Why do you continue to haunt me?"
"Is that what I have been reduced to?"

"Yes. You're a ghost. A memory, lingering in the shadows. I can't see you. I don't want to see you."
"Then maybe it's the right time for somebody new."

-

He always knew what was right, or so it seemed to her. She looked in his eyes, and lost herself countless times. His words spun webs, and she gladly flew into his traps, the sheen from the blinds too bright to ignore. He'd run his finger along her jaw. She'd sing to herself, so his words would disappear. He'd cry so he didn't have to look into her soul. She wept because he could see right through her.

They made love that night. She, with daggers in her eyes, and him, with vacant orbs, empty cages where he wished she wouldn't mind seeing herself.

"I feel nothing when I look at you", she said plainly. He kissed her sweetly on the lips, and complained of her cocoa-hazelnut taste, and how he loved it.

They held hands, and swung their legs in tandem, just to show the world they weren't in sync.

Wither

I peel my skin into flower petals, and lay them in your wake.

Will his hands know what mine did?

Will her body like the fit?