The Contingency Plan

Sunday, September 12, 2004

At times I think my past flings mean nothing. The bruises didn't mark, the obsessions were elementary and the feelings absolutely fleeting.

But then I'll come across a song we use to play, I'll read a similar name or better still, inhale the same smell of a stranger and the pangs will strike.

The words I collected from your breath, your delicate and mysterious flesh, your smile with its metallic reflection.

And I'll wonder how you managed to creep into those places where you reside. Dark and folded, pinned into me as validation.

posted by kazumi at 2:12 pm

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