shy

on Saturday, September 18, 2010

the pink, swollen flesh beneath my fingernails
throbs
as i gnaw, wrong and clench

creating possible dialogues between us
a playwright, all fantasy
for whom
the words, so sweet, so perfectly crafted
only seconds previous
become sour as they touch the air;
or swoop from my grasp entirely

like a dandelion seed
dancing upon the breeze,

taunting

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