Watery Graves

i've thrown all the letters into the fireplace,

quieted my thoughts with a shower,

pressed a cold towel over eyes, hoping

the still words won't slip back in.

 

my fingers push through long silk sleeves,

a tie coils around Adam's apple. 

toes slide through a coarse pair of shoes.

but these words tick gently against my temple,

 

now and then, gliding down skin and veins, 

in thin rivers of ink, onto paper streams.

as my feet creep down the marble hallway,

small words escape their tiny watery graves.