these days people like to talk about having sex and tasting
that hard cock with their broken hearts which whirls around in their rib cages
so they take a swig of alcohol and smoke a cigarette and then look up at the
stars which remind them of his eyes he’s was always so beautiful i traced his
spine with my fingertips i kissed his clavicles and i cupped his sorrow in my
hands and his veins bled ink because he wrote beautifully and sent letters and
sipped tea and petted his cat while he sat on the other side of the room and
watched t.v. and he had a beer in hand and was totally wasted and his breath
smelled like whiskey and sorrow and there were old books on the floor the birds
were singing outside and their memories were swept away by the ocean and
everyone was in love -
almost everyone was guilty of this at some point
(The above was written in a post-alcoholic state in the middle of the night. Management apologizes for any inconvenience.)
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