I dream of tears and live in night sweats, the liquid of you wants out of my body preemptively like personal ads seeking funeral plots. I can’t shake the nightmare feeling of our anger so don’t tell your mother I could break your heart, tell her you are a flower and I water you with my tongue to open you up and every line sounds like innuendo but it is and isn’t. You are the one that got away before you got here. People write love poems about you.


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