The Lucky One

He writes love on the bend of my elbow just to touch my skin.

I wanted to tell you that there are moments you could never imagine; they’re beautiful spheres of time, cloudy and creamy like little orange Venuses. How can I talk when my tongue’s so golden?

There is no comparison.

He casts light on my past until the memories burn white; until all that remains of the rocky terrain is a blank canvas. He gives me pens. He tells me createdo not erase. He tells me truth. I turn my hands into oysters and forget the rest; all those people, all those places — I string pearls instead of pain.

It tastes good to kiss him.


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