unspeakable poems, iii.

i read the same forty books over and over

you didn’t understand how i could get so mired
in words, a fossilized sentence, an endgame
to a paragraph, complete unto itself.

sometimes i laughed and spit out a used word
used wrong, the same way i twist in my perdition,
all alone.

what i wanted were coals to walk on,
the edge of a pier to stand on,
empty air to try and reach across
to touch your face

some way to show you
how much i loved you

but

of baby’s breath, i want only the flower

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