31 May 2024

during some tailspin turnaround


i kick rocks and skin cells,
pushing dust upwards and nothing out
the stain sticks to my skin

my every sigh is marble cracking,
or a sugarcube crumbling apart
i let the residue melt between my teeth

i have this street to myself:
in some faint faraway window, 
a cigarette siphons color from your lips



somewhere in the distance,
two birds kiss

poem 24.6.1

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