A violent thought drives
him to grab
the nearest railing
so he won’t spill
himself onto the deck.
The calm water
is a song
he wrote before he knew
how to speak
to women with mouths
like hers. White knuckles
and wet wrists, he remembers
now. Oh, that’s right.
VERY STRANGE
MAKES ME WANT TO WRITE
FERRIED PART TWO
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I would like to read that.
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AN INHABITED
REALIZATION
WOBBLY
HE COULD SPILL
OVER THE SIDE
SHOCKWAVES
WOULD TRACE HER CURVES
PAST COTTON TO SIGNIFICANT
THOUGHTSTREAM
REPETITION ASTONISHMENT
A LOVING AMY
ADDRESSEE
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I like it! : )
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