the slow sad death of kacper niburski

against the longest winter

even a struggling weed will be celebrated

by sunlight

when the snow is sloughed

in the same way that love feels like melting

like all things do eventually

the pop you shouldn’t drink

your family dog happy to see you

the waters the moon the space between

pulling your clothes off

to give me some more

of those flawed flowers brushing against your head

that i will pick plant piss on later

when it is me or the stars

both of us swaying drunk high hopeful

asking

is black all there is

am i really so white

how do i spell my name in the pulse of the disappearing

found in the night already leaving through a tunnel of life

where you will wait at a table worn by others

wondering what is taking so long

and who will take the leftovers

and if we split the bill

the drinks were unfairly proportioned

by a belly speaking in a language beyond language

that it would never come down

that it was down again

to give me some more

you there rubbing

the burnt below

where he was born seedless

and will end less than that