a mistaken man

he used to tell her
that she was the sea trapped in a seashell –
pretty on the outside but powerful
and mysterious
and ineffable underneath.

he used to tell her that the ridges
on her spine
made moonlight shadows down her back
and the freckles across her collarbone told better stories
than any of his torn up beaten down books ever could.

he used to tell her that
she smiled like poetry and smelled like
a rainy october evening
that if he had the right hands he could
play her ribcage like a xylophone
that her swollen chewed up stained red lips
were the quintessence of lust.

he used to tell her
that her eyes were the color of mint and starlight
and that, sometimes, her hair
smelled like the garden
he used to hide in
when his daddy came home smelling like whiskey and sweat.

maybe he ran out of words,
or maybe he’s just trying to think of the right ones
or maybe he never meant it at all

but he doesn’t talk so much anymore.

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2 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Amanda
    Jul 22, 2012 @ 00:43:53

    I get this. :(

    Reply

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