(Written in Monona, Wisconsin, 3PM):

This is not my livingroom. This is not my floor. This is, however, my naked body on the inside of these windows looking out. She's not home, but her aura breathes from these walls, the bookshelf secrets, the clutching lovers locked in emerald.

I hold my arms outward, one endless clap waiting to sound for the completion of this volume at my feet. At my center, I begin heating, gaining long weight.

I am thinking of the aura. I am growing. I am keeping a secret. Or am I?

My heart is on the floor, waiting to enter eyes.

I should get dressed...she'll be home soon, and even the crazed must maintain some social propriety.

As I run a quick hand down toward my legs, I smile at the windows, outside, looking in.

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