Friday, May 8, 2015

they say that my rowboats are cruel, the whispers i leave at your
doormat are cobras and your ankles
hold the puncture of someone who desires without
empathy now,
i will not apologize for how much
there is.
you were the most beautiful pocket
i'd ever trusted my coins with
i hope you find your beaches
still, fuck-
if brunches were bodies
the entire city would be a goddamn

No comments:

Post a Comment