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
and
i hope you find your beaches
someday
still, fuck-
if brunches were bodies
the entire city would be a goddamn
graveyard

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