petra

poetry

i take you daily now
to where the bone rot
sugar rests the nerves
and there we roll around
and i am content with
staying

pale yellow sunday
mornings burn our shadows
into the walls which
no one else can read

i woke up today and
sighed
i cracked my neck
i stretched and swore
i’d never have to
do it again

and if you take the
window for just its
light and not its
vista
this seems just like paradise.

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