May. 15th, 2009 07:41 pm
shiloh: (Default)
    April is the cruelest month, the newness, the creation brings with it wracking growing pains that torment us. The cold, the stillness of death in winter kept us warm. We slept in our stasis.
    And then you came, gentle as a lamb, nudging our dead bodies as we slept. The softness of your touch and the bracelets on your arm enticed us, as the sun does to seeds, to emerge from our coffins and reach toward the sky. You awakened us, you bewildered us.
    The feeling of your body next to mine, the shared heat and cocoon-like shroud caused my growing pains.
Hurry up please its time
    You could never love me the way I loved you. You could have never known the sharp prickling of my heart. We lay together, a pinpoint of heat in an icicle cave and I could not sleep. April is a sleepless month, an unholy month.
Hurry up please its time
    Shall I sleep again? Slumber among the frost and snow and sleet? Or is the winter past, now, and the summer coming soon?
Hurry up please its time
    Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets
Hurry up please its time
    This is the way the world ends
Hurry up please its time
    "They called me the hyacinth girl”

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