Ok, I swear that I will get around to posting Paris photo's, but maybe after I get back from Prague (I am naming this year my "Awesome Adventures in Europe with
shabzillaHowever, this is a different post. I have been in the mood recently to write, however I am also a greedy, greedy person who will always want to read fic, rather than write it. Therefore,
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wind thrashing in the leaves, huge
ears, huge feathers,
like some chased animal, a giant
dog or wild boar. Thunder & shivering
windows; from the tin roof
the rush of water.
I lie askew under the net,
tangled in damp cloth, salt in my hair.
When this clears there will be fireflies
& stars, brighter than anywhere,
which I could contemplate at times
of panic. Lightyears, think of it.
Screw poetry, it’s you I want,
your taste, rain
on you, mouth on your skin.
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Good grief I love Atwood. :P
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ps would it be indulgent to prompt on my own post...
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