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Rated: E · Poetry · Drama · #1582527
Older still, our Evils.
I'm in Papa's condo, 'grampa's house,' swaddled in cartoons on the leather
couch with a plate of ham cubes and crackers, back, when I ate ham.
And what would, what would he say if he knew? Or if he
walked into my summertime bedroom, soaked in sun, in song, in sin?
With roaches on my umbrella falling out when I shook it? And what
would we have done to see it, too?
Unabashed. The most shameful people, naked on top of each other in broad
daylight, in sinister intentions, drawing crosses on the walls, on each other's foreheads,
said "it's simple like knowing the answer."
your body on my body
my wooden bed
the air conditioner
hardly hearing ice cream trucks
and moving silently with sneakers on
polka dot dresses
breathing like my breath
waking up like early
tap dance until the hunger is gone
all night in a nightgown:

gather the things:
walking with a wet jacket -
summer's over now.
And we were happy, but we were so unhappy
we were happy, happy but so unhappy
we wrote letters I wore my mother's robe and understood you better.

Summer took me, laid me down in a soccer field and wrapped its long hands around my ankles
Just like you, my lover I don't recognize myself I don't recognize.
You ask for weaker tea
no, weaker
no, weaker,
still
Crawling home, painted evil on our eyelids because we like the way it feels
I picked everyone's flowers in town, everyone's. I spent all day robbing gardens just to fill a basket.

I was a dirty baby with mud on her knees watching the cars drive away.
I was winning the telephone lottery I take you up, swallow you whole before I become a disconnect never existed won't exist, a lover is a dangerous thing.
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