.
he is my distant moon,
my septembered thisandthat,
my DNA inside his nitric oxide stare,
old photographs of brandied bones
and politics that slay the heart
once pulled and cared.
posted by name of the rose at 3:17 p.m.
soak the edge
The inside of thought is where everything teems and stirs with a thousand cracks is where the water meets the shore like threads pulled taut that soak the edge
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