the curve of her hip;

November 8th, 2002 · 11 comments

i’m trying not to move
            it’s just
      your ghost passing through

(yesterday, your ghost was here. i stood still, didn’t say a word. held my breath.)

winter brings this, but it feels like summer again. it feels like summer, and i am awake now. moving slowly. spilling lamp oil all over my hands.

it feels like summer and i am smiling. creating. starving. my window wide open and music (!and music!). dancing through doorways, my hair coming loose. lighting candles and oil and and and. singing to the cat.

the moments that define me.

Musique: tori is my winter. tori is.

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