Bristle

That poor baby rabbit coughed and sweat his way through the week. He didn’t come out of his bed until the weekend, when the pull of his job would coax the infant into his pants. It is a matter of notation that coming out of that sauna into the sun and tall grass blown over, coming out of the concrete as it threatened to weigh him down, disallowing breath, it is a matter of principle to agree that this is a second chance to be alive.

But what of the difference in days?

You try to protect the insides and reveal them simultaneously.. an exit without a statement. An entrance and it feels like something you can feel.. something you can chew. I should feel thankful but, it’s been a while and I’ve built a library of avoidant excuses. It is a magical time despite this fact.

I don’t think I can sneak much past you. Masculine and siting on your tastebuds. Sweet and sour/salted… I could eat you forever… I could eat this forever.. although the rain would have me stay away, my clothes clinging to me. Another turning of a page, motivated to live and not perish with this regret.

art credit : Willem Boshoff (South African, b. 1951) — Lovers