Meggie! (rivulet) wrote,


(I just wanted to get this somewhere besides on paper so I could throw this paper away. It's cluttering up my room.)

We lie in bed, Cory and I, on his hard but comfortable futon close to his hard but comfortable floor. He's talking about something but I'm ignoring him because I can hear train whistles out of the ear that's not suction-cupped to his bare chest, the one that isn't tickled by his deep tired rumbling voice. He stops talking, whether because I'm not answering a question or because he's finished his thought I don't know, but when he stops I can feel the floor and the bed and us shaking, shaking ever so slightly away up in the sky on the third floor, to the rhythm of the train's wheels clacking through Corvallis.
Tags: poetic
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