Tuesday, May 7, 2013

I Rolled Those Words in Honey.

Remember when I would draw on your face with my words? That one time, a buffalo skull on your cheek. We laughed and laughed and Out West, on our fingertips, stayed put.

And once, we touched shoulders in an art gallery. Your voice, my childhood stairs creaking on any given night, adjusted the earth with ease.


And if you're asking, I'm fine. 

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