A butterfly followed me to school todays. Past the College Dr. traffic, past the two men in business suits on the corner by the Funeral homes, even past the city worker putting a parking ticket off a red car that was parked in front of one of the many towering office buildings downtown.
Seaside Journal
I don't reach out for him. I don't desire the burning touch on my skin to complete me. I am something without him. Someone elses desire for that burning touch. I am worlds away and I don't see him. Maybe I am not in the world at all. This is not real. When I open my eyes, a million colors covering my nose, body, down to my toes. Have I forgotten? Or is it that I never wanted you in the first place.
The sun has tattooed our skin to the color of a wild horses mane, the color of Brazllian coffee beans they boast. Somos seguros aqui, with our rose colored noses, our eyes painted the vibrant of blues, like the ocean and the sky we st
are up for answers. We are safe here.
I can't stand his touch, his smell, or his lies. Gone with the wind, the birds, the world only you and I know.
How, in such a world, can a human say "I love you" and not care to write those words that the other one needs for survival, on paper. How long the distance, the time has past.
