My Cardboard Balcony

Old Haunts by Belinda Roddie Mangy hair, loose lips, smile held together by base clips from a microscope. You take my hands and try to warm them, but there's no circulation in your fingers. Because you are bones, and your jaw dangles in a perpetual expression of shock and awe. Undress me when it's midnight, and you will see the skin wrinkling like a dying pumpkin. I lost the magic long ago, before the clock struck its last tableau. Cold sheets, cold pillow, dead willows out in the courtyard. I kiss your skull and feel your brain pulse beneath it. Tender is the hour.

I didn't have much disposable income, as about ninety percent of the money I made went to rent, utilities, and basic food and clothing needs. Therefore, I was floored to find a beautiful red velvet jacket on display in the local thrift shop - gold embroidery, black buttons, only ten bucks. I could feel like a freaking king in this and still be able to afford dinner.