My cheeks are getting rain soaked, a little dusty.
The red rug kept sticking
to my feet and I couldn’t get it off, and I’m
worried they’ll be red forever.
The wine spilt on my dress, too. I forgot to hold it up - it slipped away,
when I was younger. Younger still tomorrow, and I can’t remember the last
I said hello. And the moths ate the rug and I kept catching
them in my hands. They left silver dust behind, not silver, though.
And coated my palms and the walls and the
rug with holes. I don’t think I can fill it.