Choking back strawberries in a whirl of anxiety
You were only ever art.
Tasting your veins on a Spring morning and wanting to spit the blood from the back of my throat.
Oh, honey.
Oh, this disgusting act.
Your legs kick at the backboard leaving my head in a fit of
Spin.
Spin.
Spin.
Oh, baby.
Oh, pathetic I.
-L. D.













