/lit/ - Literature

I critiqued last time and didn't get any response, so I'm drunk enough to just post without crit this time. Sorry friends!

~A Page From Hemingway's Book, My Lover~

You ruin yourself in the name of a spool of thread,
One stitch tighter than the subtle curve of that iliac crest
Like a lilac
Lavender, you smell the way grass does in summer
The tabac you burn
Inhale
Ex-
Hale

Does it take a prayer over a champagne flute to solve your problems?
The humps of spinal column are temporary
Until you set them in stone.
You are a petrified forest of hollow bone.

Ten: Drunk or displeased

Nine: How do you take your coffee?
Cream,
Splenda,
and a side of those chalky chemicals you take, you crane your neck to make sure no one is watching
Eight: A stutter, staccato insecurity
Lose track at seven; wine dulls,
Your body an
Ossuary

He comes to pay his respects.

Thank him.

===

A lie: I OD’d in the parking lot at Target
And you rode up on your bike
And carried me to the emergency room
Slung across the handlebars like a piece of silk

A lie: One time, you left a bruise on my back
In the shape of the state of Massachusetts.
We watched it change color with the leaves that fall–
Dull grey to violet; it never quite reached the color of your eyes.

A lie: I saw your face,
Your cracked lips moved like a fish gaping for air.
You did not know what to say at 3am,
and I didn’t love you.\