Icarus's blog: "Just South of Blue."

Still irked
she somehow landed 20 feet away without a word, a thought, an anorexic hug heavy with cigarette smoke and shared showers.

I guess I didn't have anything to say.

I hadn't made a move, a clattering sweep to solve every problem, and I hadn't uttered a word in sympathy.







I kissed your wife.
or rather



she kissed me.





I wrote poetry in her name, and body.






I never really had anything to say about that.






How she always smelled like rainy saturdays, and was gone with as much stillness.





























We could've talked about that.