Sunday, April 20, 2008


Vaseline on my lips never felt so nice after having you walking in my corridor all morning, touching the door knob and constantly taking off and putting on your shoes. Gasoline smell from the kitchen stove, last nights red wine on the table cloth. Bread crumbs on the bottom of our feet, naked feet touching the tiles of manuscripts and laces of history. im not making sense i know. 
but neither did you make sense yesterday. The red of wine on your teeth, the smell of devil in your mouth. Im tired of your eyes looking into mine. Im upset at the fact you have nothing to lie about. Tell me about the real time you felt my hand. 

Im glad its over.
Im glad your gave me the eraser when i couldnt find it.

 text by: the female zoo
photo by: sarah jones