Monday, May 7, 2012
I am where there is no cross street I am where my heart and head collide I am where I learn why I have a tongue. I am where I remember things by licking them. I am where I pant for the forgetful. I am where my mouth waters for you. I am where skin on skin is love manifested. I am where I soak up hearts with my taste-buds I am where they stick inside my mouth I am where it's hot and damp and stormy. I am in some forgotten place, you don't remember even though you were there. I am where even poets need sleep.
Tickle your toes. . .
In my dreams I am the fictional version of myself. The one I seek to be in my short-stories and prose. The one who gets her point across...
Ah, 7. The number in question. During this process of developing my first full-length work of prose, and a memoir to boot, I have considered...