you know there's nothing to blame,
my dearest. nothing to
it's just that there's so little left of me
if i were a god i could write in tongues of flame
and i would say in letters a mile wide that it wasn't
it wasn't what i thought.
the taste
of a shadow is
something vile.
as if you were vile,
lover.
as if in the depths of your eyes lurked
white deformed things
that not even the sun of your face
could burn away.
white as zinc.
the flavor of a girl.
no longer to taste
the gravel
your steps
touched.
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