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.