i like sitting beside the window feeling tortured by the torrential rain, wishing that it was pounding at my surface, scratching away at my pores. <br /> <br />having bluegrass melodies sweeping up my ears, filling them with banjos and voices as cavernous as the grand canyon <br /> <br />and watching you laying on the carpet, your legs crossed, rolling a cigarette as if you were caressing skin, <br />being careful as if you were rolling my veins, controlling the blood flow to my heart, <br /> <br />making it swell to burst.<br /><br />chloe young<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/sunday-afternoon-6/
