A promise. I would capture your memory and lock it to my ribcage, interlocked bones wearied from age, bearing up under the weight of a memory, a promise. I locked my heart to that fence and sealed it with a kiss, framed in words. That I would capture my memory and lock it to these pages, within this post of words that have flowed, with an unrecognized depth from my lips, releasing the ossified cage, interlocked, weary from age. And all along, she flowed beneath me, whispering a promise, a cold promise, fathomless, with dead bodies that would not forget.
Copyright: Death of the Writer – my own photo to finish the show