Yellow Sweater

I went to goodwill to buy a costume. You have to dress up to play the part. In fact, once you put on a costume it’s no longer a part, it’s an entirety. At goodwill we play God; we construct personalities from the racks of dead shedded skin. 

In the tender morning silence
There is only the sound of left-over rain. 
The mist is quiet. 
But it is quiet like a sheep,
With fluctuating innocence.
It goes where the wind pushes.  

The ship was full of rats. They ate all the cabbage. Though, even the rats avoided the bread; the moldy foul bread we were forced to consume day after endless day. Our water supply was running low.

I am dreaming, 
Dreaming of dirty shoes that take me beyond my front door. 
I am dreaming of the delicate gritty details lost.
Lost in the days that were lost. 

My beloved Belle and Sebastian,

I drink a steamy distillation. 
Poignancy is found in fog, 
Lilting with each breath, 
As soft, as sharp,
As silk. 
Our sense of preciousness is vague. 
Clouds hold an unattainable essence of dirt, 

I danced. I wore red lipstick, a party dress, and uncomfortable shoes. The spring air was smooth and tinted with new flowers. It was fluid as it wrapped itself around my twirling form. Infinity was slow then fast with the beat of the music.