the stars, the sea, and sleep.

Friday, April 8, 2011

Approximate Midnight Bomb

I could taste the fever under my tongue
That burned each sentence to death,
You walked over them precisely,
I lacked an inner ear understanding.
When the glass slipper shattered,
The heels had dug in deeper,
You were despondent with the pressure
On a deep wound or a trigger.

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