Jan 5, 2017
On days like this, there is ice in my veins – I have not heard from her in years But the stranger in front of me at the coffee shop Bent her wrists against her hips in the same way. What an odd thing to remember, I think, Staring at the inverted angle connecting bone to bone, What a strange moment to hurt me, To sink under my skin and freeze my blood, Electric Like the storm outside, Sleet on the pavement, Under hurried feet. And now I feel the way she bends her wrist against her hips, Against the steering wheel, Against my own under the covers. On days like this, I am struck by all the new ways there are To still miss her
a.d.c. // 4/365 // Her Wrists
