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These Little WordsBy David Antonio Moody QuailBellMagazine.com  I’ve learned love for you. I’ve found your garments tucked all over the bathroom corners, near the fridge, on the nightstand book left bedside, pressed under pillows, pinched between wall and cardboard boxes, to learn what you are—clean-- and I am the dirty one. No, your bras keep their pink without a word, in iris patterns purpled and lying in tight shapes, in bunches, knots, the infinite coil slipped off, abandoned by the piano, one double helix before the sink, two wads tossed inside the closet where that drawer contains whites. Quietly, my boxers fade, every wash tearing the elastic loose. But what clothes I never notice, too busy blurring in and about side rooms, foyers, behind you, hunting what you’ve misplaced on chairs, vinyl hooks—that black endless shawl—but to find you leaning, fully dressed, smoking a cigarette in the doorway, the dark cloth about your shoulders when you exhale the cab’s here. #Unreal #DavidAntonioMoody #Poetry #LearnedToLoveYou #BadRomance #TheseLittleWords Visit our shop and subscribe. Sponsor us. Submit and become a contributor. Like us on Facebook and follow us on Twitter.
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