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Ask Me in December
Story of Humanity
In the fall the caretaker will rake leaves from atop your grave the leaves will be taken to a giant pile and there they will be cremated
By Christy Munson27 days ago in Poets
and she is sitting comfortably despite her awkwardness having told me her secrets having bared herself to me having let me know her so intimately
i had a name til I had none shackled, stolen, broken boned ripped from good stripped searched laid bare metal to my brow
I make messes - it's what I do for you _____ this morning's melting golden-hour sun drips its buttery light across our breakfast table
mine aren’t fashioned to hold tight money slips through _____ a million metaphoric hammers jack my grip _____
soldiers bring him on stretcher bleeding caked mud starving thirst deep clothes too big jungle takes shoes ___
Dear Sis, George and I ate Beefaroni on our wedding night. Dusty bottles of Boones Farm, a 60-watt bulb, and plastic tablecloth
Lingering touches brushing against my soft skin and the scent of you still pooling inside me tingling like a phantom limb
1940s moaning midnights sultry seclusion sibylline seduction ______ 1950s unexpected news whirlwind wedding
we wrap ourselves in layers of scratchy blankets for the third time in as many hours _____ I cannot get enough _____
whisked you away to alpine adventures to restore your balance and reawaken your appetite for life on the adrenaline-fueled edge
After years of trial and error I have become capable of wizard’s math: I can count on my fingers and toes who loves me