you're only as sick as your s e c r e t s.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

mmrs.

I remembered that time

I took the bus to your house in the

dead of winter and how

the bus got stuck on a hill for

fifteen minutes and how when

I got to your house

my anger melted like the snow

on my boots

and none of it;

the cold,

the people,

none of it mattered anymore

when I crawled into bed with you and

placed my cold

hands and feet

upon your back.

Oh how you would

squeal and scold me before

wrapping your arms around me.

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