"In their search for ‘devil's gold,' as they call it, about 300 miners make a daily climb two miles up the mountain, then head downward more than 900 yards into the volcano, where the sulfu ... [+]
Soft silk sheets slip from my skin.
It’s morning.
It’s mildly unpleasant the way memory of night still lingers
Much like I do now in bed.
The sun’s brilliance wanes.
Cool skin against cream sheets.
At times it crests, welling
Much like the memory of you.
“That doesn’t matter when you're horizontal,” he’d tell me
A pillow tumbles to the floor.
I unravel
Much like the braid in my head.
Fingers tense and release.
I place your echo under covers
And I float to sleep.
It’s morning.
It’s mildly unpleasant the way memory of night still lingers
Much like I do now in bed.
The sun’s brilliance wanes.
Cool skin against cream sheets.
At times it crests, welling
Much like the memory of you.
“That doesn’t matter when you're horizontal,” he’d tell me
A pillow tumbles to the floor.
I unravel
Much like the braid in my head.
Fingers tense and release.
I place your echo under covers
And I float to sleep.