your jokes are ridiculous,
ostentatious
like the cups you fill your hair with
and your hand hugging my bottom,
basking in our bodies,
leaving us nothing more
than the void of an ideal form.
beautiful time.
if i found a stone
that was flat enough,
would you grit it across
my glossy skin
revealing spots of cranberry,
would you?
if i were to be buried here tonight
would you break my bones first
or leave me
full and restless,
like the last time.
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