pride

it lifts like a lady’s skirt
I’m no lady, you’re no lady,
he’s too scared and his breath
is heavy
but I heave him into my lungs like
weed and keep the high there
as if it were giving me head
but I just whisper the sunset into
shade and he falls into it
as pens go to hands,
as love letters to envelopes,
as finger to thumb,
his head turned up high.

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