F U C K
In the yolk
of my shadow
there’s a dead dream
with the tar of yesterday
dripping down
its half-sprouted feathers.
I can see the phantom pain
kicking against
my shadow’s shell.
A false sense.
A false hope.
I embrace
my shadow
as she mourns.
I see her polaroid tears,
they shiver as they trickle down
her cheeks,
by the time they roll off her face
I can see images develop
of me and you.
I already mourned you,
what am I supposed to do now?
It seems redundant.
I take my favorite picture
and place it under my tongue,
my graveyard of past tastes.
I’ll transfer you to another mouth.
I know
you deserve a better burial.
I’ll resurrect you
in every lover I kiss.
You deserve to live.
Fuck.