An hour and a day
penned down your name
into the flesh, and putrid
bone
You sighed in smoke
and constellations;
they were all the same
in you, yet the brightest,
you called it—
mine
Seconds past belief
wick and bone, you tore
my tongue, and there
I coughed thousands
of roses
“For you,” out of phantom
kisses; breathed insane
wishes.
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