Moans and slurs and moarnings

Adulthood

is the decomposition of children

where each day

is another death

that whistles weary

and forgotten by those

few bodies who never

learned how to whistle

despite hearing it

everywhere

*

How could we not talk

after sharing each other

in hugs and humps

though I suppose

we did not talk

much during it all

but instead moaned

and tried to fill the wordlessness

with something;

me if I’m lucky,

you if you’re luckier

*

Life is endless

only mine is shorter

and spent searching for something

to begin

besides myself

for I slipped out like a slur

or a continuation of accidents

that still rumble

with a fuel that burns

and a brake

that was never hit

because the driving was good

but the people were better