#bedsandwindows

His bed Bathes in light, creaks on the wooden floor, shapes, shapes, lines, no circles. shadow lines tear the wall, and the sheet, that imperceptible plaid, the warmest gray, how I want to see this warm gray soak, a little, a lot, too much, much too much, how much I want to see the shadow line on my nipple, my jaw, everything around the bed is linear, lines and angles, no circle. - the only curve will be me. Oh he did it on purpose he wanted the only curve to be me. There between lines of light, in those tiny squares, in the warmest gray of the world, there I want to live, with my Flanders lace, to come, to disappear, to melt, to hear the the noise of my cells falling in the wooden floor that only that in his bed