I whisper my desires into my sleeve
Muffling the noise
Filtering myself along with all my hot air
What ridiculous aspirations, what soothing lies
I tell myself as a small hawk flies circles over my pillow before my temples hit the linen
I watch you dwindle to the bone from afar
From the light of the box, I watch your marrow melt
Take me in increments
I’ll be had however you’d like
I flooded the hydrangea
A case of over indulgence or compensation, perhaps both
Salty thick tears tightly preserved in fogged over mason jars
stacked high to the ceiling fan
Relics of old, rations to survive the current drought
I dried the flower petals and clasped them in a leather moleskin
Object permenance
Do you feel a tinge in your chest when I put pen to paper?
Like a lonesome poppet
Imbrued by my gentle inability to severe myself
I offer you my palms until you find someone more suitable
Endearing or pitiful, I love like a hound
A squalid part of you smiles, knowing one’s steadfastness is not easy to obtain
I’ll take my position as court jester with stride
Something a little less than a fellow throne dweller
Something a little more than the common people
Who else has enough audacity to look you in the iris while chewing the fat of shared honesty
Or is it cynicism?
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