scribbly bits

I am wearing the same dress
as the night that we met.

The night we met, your eyes
flicked the bias of my silhouette,
clamped me in a gentle vice
that said-
you are meant be here, you are right.
 
There is this peace
to being restricted.

Tonight, I am wearing the same dress.
Your eyes scoop dust from every dim corner,
searchlights stress the room.
Home is an unknown, sex is just a passport.
I am untethered, like a party balloon.

This is starting to bore me.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s