Tuesday, 11 January 2011

write about sunday afternoon

She didn’t examine her body for bruises, or not until sunday afternoon, 
standing in a shaft of sunlight, dust illuminated, her skin covered in downy hairs 
-lifting as her fingertips brush by- caressing the purlpegreenblue of that night, 
bared teeth and curled lip, sprawled, she remembers, 
it doesn’t matter where the lace is worn what matters is where you bruise.

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