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Spaghetti knots

the dark kicks like a knockout

she said she

wanted it rough

so i gave her a few years

of emotional disregard

and the impregnation of a dull sky

that fails to separate nights against the

suffocating sum of days

with hands on her neck

that bear the birth of bottled giraffes

learning how to unwalk on the floor

along with purple underwear troughed on ankles and invisible hiccups

waiting to be swallowed

for she wants it fast fast

and i do

with a quick fumbling of perfect illusion

on the first date

spilling the expensive red wine

telling a mediocre story

a second soon after

belching yesterday’s meal into existence again

a third date ruined by my second hand wear

the pervading smell of

old people the urine the toffee the stale coffee

baked in my newly purchased clothes

that don’t fit quite yet

as i don’t either in the fourth

too quick for both of us

too slow to bother us

followed by a fifth that is so unrecognizable

that it is suddenly followed by a sixth seventh eighth

to ensure that it happened

and it did

penetrating pointed moments of her life

where she could be learning tchaikovsky who

i heard is pretty good

though i don’t listen to music

or maybe painting art

which i don’t really understand

or learning another language

besides this breathlessness tied in limbs

dismembered and the occasional banging of heads

the bruises on knees

the screaming now

like birth again

hers

mine

theirs if this plastic bag holding fruit already rotten

goes wrong

such as not hugging hard enough

not kissing long enough

not being long enough to grab her hair

like it was already cut wasted scattered

to be tossed out

until

the universe knocks outside my window

where we still expand into ourselves

silently now

softly

hand on each other

tired from checking for expiring dates

in a warm room and an easy bed and a dark night

that isn’t ours

but yet

but yet

how we hold we

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About kacperniburski

I am searching for something in between the letters.

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