On bodysuits and words,
last night I thought to myself,
shit girl, you stopped writing.
mon petit cheri,
its shape and form,
function and flavor,
too tight to breathe.
Anger with my mind for allowing the passage of time,
to create a space that is hard to define.
Like kisses from sweet feathers,
wispy and light,
forming little letters,
that will beset her.
gently slipping the straps off…
Letting it slip down my body,
it hits ground.
light mound on the floor,
and i write this piece of crap.
switched off the lights.
Good night world.