sleep-talk.More Like This
isnt it curious how your fingers fit perfectly between each of my sclerous ribs, or how your breath mimics mine with belated accuracy
(count each breath and youll run out of fingers.)
dont you remember the fairytales?
(and they both lived happily ever after, until after ran out and the monogamy became as non-existent as the magic.)
you were never one for myths. with discerning eyes, youd plant kisses along the ridges of my back
across my shoulders
and the hollow beneath my jaw, questioning my pastel skin and every involuntary blink.
I am not a myth. Id breathe.
Even when my back wore naught but jutting wing bones, a street of s