I could lumber down hallways
and break my legs
on stairwells
reaching for a brown door,
the grain tinted purple and green.
I take tallies
about how many knocks
it takes (today it was 9).
We have eaten each other’s
salvia and cupped each other’s
cheeks,
and now I can’t
listen to the last
30 seconds of
a song,
afraid to hear
any type of ending.














Comments
I love this poem.
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I'll get you so pregnant your middle name will explode.
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I'll get you so pregnant your middle name will explode.
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