My attempt to remain blink-free fails.
And with the slightest and quickest touch of eyelash to eyelash,
A tear falls.
I want to lock all these tears up in my room.
I don’t want them to spill.
But my room has no lock.
It has no key.
My door doesn’t even shut all the way.
I blink again,
This time prolonging the closure
Along with drawing in a hard and ragged breath.
OK, I surrender, tears.
Come on out.
As you want.
As you will.
As you are.
They do.
They perform their salty gravity show,
With their falling
They leave behind invisibly miniscule traces of my heart.
1 comment:
analyn, just give in.
write and give up this nonsense of being practical. I your fellow unpractical sociology nuthead friend would attempt to support you at 2 cents an hour. It'd be grand.
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