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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345414" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Love Letter Written In A Burning Building</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,<br>full of white shirts and salad greens,<br>the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks,<br>and I wore movies in my eyes,<br>and you wore eggs in your tunnel,<br>and we played sheets, sheets, sheets<br>all day, even in the bathtub like lunatics.<br>But today I set the bed afire<br>and smoke is filling the room,<br>it is getting hot enough for the walls to melt,<br>and the icebox, a gluey white tooth.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">I have on a mask in order to write my last words,<br>and they are just for you, and I will place them<br>in the icebox saved for vodka and tomatoes,<br>and perhaps they will last.<br>The dog will not. Her spots will fall off.<br>The old letters will melt into a black bee.<br>The night gowns are already shredding<br>into paper, the yellow, the red, the purple.<br>The bed - well, the sheets have turned to gold -<br>hard, hard gold, and the mattress<br>is being kissed into a stone.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">As for me, my dearest Foxxy,<br>my poems to you may or may not reach the icebox<br>and its hopeful eternity,<br>for isn't yours enough?<br>The one where you name<br>my name right out in P.R.?<br>If my toes weren't yielding to pitch<br>I'd tell the whole story -<br>not just the sheet story<br>but the belly-button story,<br>the pried-eyelid story,<br>the whiskey-sour-of-the-nipple story -<br>and shovel back our love where it belonged.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Despite my asbestos gloves,<br>the cough is filling me with black and a red powder seeps through my<br>veins,<br>our little crate goes down so publicly<br>and without meaning it, you see, meaning a solo act,<br>a cremation of the love,<br>but instead we seem to be going down right in the middle of a Russian<br>street,<br>the flames making the sound of<br>the horse being beaten and beaten,<br>the whip is adoring its human triumph<br>while the flies wait, blow by blow,<br>straight from United Fruit, Inc.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Anne+Sexton">Anne Sexton</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=345414" data-title="Love Letter Written In A Burning Building de Anne Sexton" data-description="I am in a crate, the crate that was ours,
full of white shirts and salad greens,
the icebox knocking at our delectable knocks,
and I wore movies in my eyes,
and you wore eggs in your tunnel,
and we played sheets, sheets, sheets
all day, even in th..."></div>
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