monument

Sometimes eloquence completely escapes you
Sometimes all that leaves your larynx is nothing but prosaic beauty

Today I was left with a faded picture of her while digging through old things
A reminder of how good, how bad, how remarkably electric things once were
Summer's eve having sex propped up against the side of a house
Wiping the sweat from her forehead before I let her down
Gasping together in silence, smirking at our Blasphemy
Catching our breath as my arms and her legs tire but remain tight

And then I'm awake
Alone
In bed

...