Thursday, December 25, 2008

The Water Love


I walked down the street in the dew dress. The moon was gibbous, the stones were dark. I read the sign on the window, it said: "We hire those for sale." I turned away, looking for the soul that I had lost. I was Royal Violet, but meant naught. The moon was clothed in rolling moisture, which fell softly to roll down my face. I whispered, "I am no longer." Then I continued on.

4 comments:

Jeff said...

These are a few of my favorite things: the dew dress . . . The moon was gibbous, the stones were dark . . . The moon was clothed in rolling moisture . . . Most excellent!

Shoshona said...

Thank you so much, Jeff, for the wonderful comment! But, once again, it was just something (voices in my head, perhaps) that wrote the post. It wasn't me. It came through my fingers, but that was the extent of what I did. I'm amazed myself at whoever the REAL writer is.
...Probably some nutcase.
Anyway, thanks again Jeff. Much appreciated.

Jeff said...

I know exactly what you mean. I still haven't figured out who's doing the writing that sometimes finds its way onto my blog, but hey, nutcases are peeble, too. Or not, if they're something else. Like lint, for example. Or mustard.

(I'm not writing any of this myself!!)

Shoshona said...

No, of course you're not. I'm not writing this, either. I'm possessed! Something inside me is making my fingers type this stuff! HELP! WE'RE ALL DOOMED!
-creepy possessed voice- I will write until hell freezes over. Then I'll go back to hell, because I like the cold.