this is the taste of death
but i cannot be hurt
with the years that have gone since you have
spending years trying to not be you
which is such a you thing to do
yawning years slugged into unconcern quiet
as a growing flower will when the forest comes
in vengeance of all the life that could’ve been held
like i am to you now
deep into this
breathing dogs
loving dogs
dogs sprawled in sunlit floor promising to always
be there
by letting go of the territory
they cannot control
though there is piss and death and barely anything else
besides you again
with me again
round the city where they will say
that i wrote too much about nothing at all
but did they see how you looked at me
did they break the law with you
did they see that i couldn’t always see you
slipping now
like the morning dew drenched in a warm sun
until those same dogs come
tired from a night of dreams
they cannot explain
or tell anyone about
dreams of you
when you needed saving
through them
though then
the cancer of the bones
comes
because of the life
the past
the food
like you
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