Holding Therapy
Maybe it was he
whipping off his belt and going out, incomplete
and swinging. All his descent was personified
in the treetops, a hammer of ease
for her, the belt hard around his neck,
leaving a purple ring, matching the noose.
His pre-death, the switchbacks between when he
hung, barely in-between days of disjointed
physical comfort and rhythmic reflections.
Whipping off his belt he had gone out, incomplete
and swinging. All his descent had been in the
burning powder of the crimson trail
left by his tongue; her head hung,
barely in-between days of disjointed physical
comfort and rhythmic reflections. His touch,
barely hung between appetite and rigid
expectations of splintering his
skin against her touch.
In the burning powder of the crimson trail left
by his tongue; her head welcomed
the bumps on his tongue against her palate,
resolutely scraping her wet epidermis. She had
a touch that barely hung between appetite
and rigid expectations of splintering her
skin against his touch.
The bumps on his tongue against her palate,
resolutely scraping her wet epidermis. She had
the tendency to hold him as she would a log,
close yet rigid. He had the jarring
tendency to speak in monosyllables
while staring blankly away from her.
Salmoning, they flapped their extremities, fighting
away from embrace, upstream and away from home.
The tendency to hold him as she
would a log, close yet rigid; personified
in the treetops, a hammer of comfort. Her pre-life,
the switchbacks between when he had salmoned,
flapping his extremities, fighting his way against
embrace, upstream and away from home.
whipping off his belt and going out, incomplete
and swinging. All his descent was personified
in the treetops, a hammer of ease
for her, the belt hard around his neck,
leaving a purple ring, matching the noose.
His pre-death, the switchbacks between when he
hung, barely in-between days of disjointed
physical comfort and rhythmic reflections.
Whipping off his belt he had gone out, incomplete
and swinging. All his descent had been in the
burning powder of the crimson trail
left by his tongue; her head hung,
barely in-between days of disjointed physical
comfort and rhythmic reflections. His touch,
barely hung between appetite and rigid
expectations of splintering his
skin against her touch.
In the burning powder of the crimson trail left
by his tongue; her head welcomed
the bumps on his tongue against her palate,
resolutely scraping her wet epidermis. She had
a touch that barely hung between appetite
and rigid expectations of splintering her
skin against his touch.
The bumps on his tongue against her palate,
resolutely scraping her wet epidermis. She had
the tendency to hold him as she would a log,
close yet rigid. He had the jarring
tendency to speak in monosyllables
while staring blankly away from her.
Salmoning, they flapped their extremities, fighting
away from embrace, upstream and away from home.
The tendency to hold him as she
would a log, close yet rigid; personified
in the treetops, a hammer of comfort. Her pre-life,
the switchbacks between when he had salmoned,
flapping his extremities, fighting his way against
embrace, upstream and away from home.