a scar is but a remnant of recklessness, they say.



and I watch as mine eclipsed a saturn return,aching words i should disperse ten years ago outside your doorstep, guts hanging low and the color of my bile, like over-riped tangerines.
you were all bourbon eyes, cigarette mouth and colossal sun-like warmth, but my hands are useless to evoke my need to slither inside your heart and build a fort inside it and stay there. instead, i am cocooned in the corner of my bedroom, twiddling thumbs and pondering whether your kiss meant...