As rolled oats slip through sleep driven fingers
I cannot hold onto anything.
The night only grows so dark in the city,
and all things linger in the faint light of street lamps.
Oh the strangeness of come-and-go friends,
familiar as your mothers hands.
I will pour myself a glass of water to clear away
the wine that allowed my bluntness,
bluntness that let me cry,
and tears that held solace.

_____________________________

I wish I could remember the lines that rushed between my ears as you spilled your past 3 weeks of thought;
but I was too busy trying to understand the unfinished sentences.

_________________

it is strange to leave in what seems like sacred moments
because of what politics we hold surrounding our intimacies
an oh so common trend,
perhaps to be reconsidered
___________________

snack snack
snack attack
sometimes a snack’s
really got your back
crunck & crack
salsa snack
snack snack snack
snack on track

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