20 November 2008

In the Summer We Eat Roses

A friend wrote this story, and here are a few lines I couldn't resist posting:

"In that room he builds the dreams he wants to remember."

"Just after their mother died Virge drove so fast the stars and trees tangled and the road opened up and part of his mind got caught on a hooked moon. Catch his eyes enough and it'll come back, smooth the starburst scars on his forehead, settle and stay."

"You'll talk and talk. When it's night we'll climb the hill to the abandoned cemetery and we'll sleep in the blue flowers and you'll wake up and tell me my dreams and I'll tell you yours. This is what I'll say: We live in a house, painted red with a wild jungle for a yard, it is a hot summer. You take your shirt off and I touch your back with my fingertips. I hold up a candy house like they have in stories and I bite it and you bite it. We eat and watch each other and we're married now. I hold up an apple, smoked soft and so sweet it makes you sick to smell. I break it with my hands and we each bite, in love now. I hold up a rose, fat as a basketball, and we eat. We eat rose petals 'till all that's left is a hard green nugget and all else is night around us and I look at you and see me and you look at me and see you."

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