the summer all the cows died they came in the night dressed in people clothes an army of clacking lowing bones rattling the doorknob tapping on windows with crude shriveled hooves begging to be let inside the house
they implied that telling my parents about them would have dire consequences as flames flared in the night skies where its eyes used to live
they came every night that summer bones rattling in a long procession from the fields below up to our door time has dulled the edges of these terrors but if i close my eyes and concentrate i can still hear the ghostly rattling of bones and hooves echoing through the oklahoma night
a non-exhaustive list of things i like, romantic stylez i like secrets and barely touching i like candlelight and eye contact i like palms against palms, pinky promises, and kisses on my knuckles i like stolen glances and love notes slipped into pockets unnoticed i like the intimacy of a moment in a crowded room i like lips on my neck, a voice in my ear, a hand on the small of my back i like conversations with no words i like meandering strolls on a rainy evening i like all of these things and so many more but absolutely most of all i like you
loose threads 