Harsh vegetation blathers.
She conveys secrecy with a look.
Other times, hiccups waste the washed air.
Me with my arm in a cast. Me with…

And along the sidewalk, dribbles
of day’s remainder and the cussed rabble
pushing on. She bites down a bit too hard.
She says she’s losing track.

Velvet fuck whispers and havoc.
The hurting spurts brash tears.
Weird synonyms for sucker.
I and she bathing in a broken light.

Losing track… I and she…
But what is it she’s losing track of?
The night is in stitches,
delaying the melancholy.

Our two heads swollen and heavy.
Penultimate gravity triumph.
I roll my tongue, seeking a taste of..
Suddenly shivering and August all reticent.

We leaf through pages of childhood,
losing ourselves in translation.
Losing ourselves and ravaging
our foundations.

-r. miller


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