Wednesday, May 17, 2017


Only my imagination can speak her name
While she tenderly lifts you out of bed
By obligation or by bond
By love or simple kindness
By the threat to my stars
She dresses the wounds of my love 
And I know she is real
And kind 
And I have never suffered for someone's kindness 
I have suffered betrayal, dishonest mouths 
Angry hands, denial and abandonment
But I have never suffered kindness. 
And who am I to suffer that you suffer less? 
What great hatred for my pettiness grows
Cold lumps inside my stomach 

Love curdled into sour milk

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