burn, pale white paper.
women will write poetry from your ashes
and men bathe in the brevity of your smoke,
while the rain spends its day disappearing
into thirsty rivers,
and falling into heavy puddles.
a hundred thousand misplaced droplets
that cascade down the broken stone
and carry away the embers
shared between two lips.
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actually, I quite like this.
ReplyDeleteyou're pretty much a genius when it comes to words, so even your "suckiest" (which this totally isn't) is going to be brilliant.