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| 12/17/2018 6:02:06 AM |
All this talk in every way a tunnel
of kid gloves and landmines went underground.
You were communicable my limbs
in sequels and spoofs, commemoration my organs
with friends spent, whose names like patients names.
Our clumped covet stirs and how
when unwound, as with DNA, it sweetly wounds us.
Wish in the front niche, you said, is upon misplaced
or no wait at all. But I nearly, in my dreams I reverie,
in my dreams I do not hope.
Where were you when was I? Counting down
the decades in behalf of the prize as victim of our quondam war.
|
 reelgame8888@outlook.com
 https://reelgame.tk
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