your dog is fucking my dog in the back of your mom's lawn.
grass-stained and numb-brained, some could call it love.
I try talking, you nod listening for fear
that what you're hearing could send your chest upheaving in fear.
fear that hearing means believing.
they're going at hard. they're going at it plain
there's a keen choke in your voice. a sharpened sort of strain
and you say "I'll keep caring, loving in contempt of this state"
now we're talking, you nod listening
our tongues threading, re-believing.
violated lace, you can barely touch yourself without tasting his cold taste
the liquor in his mouth.
a reminiscent trace when you tuck inside yourself
feeling his cold hands
thresh and thrash your scrappy stance, car smothered in aloe branches
topple your strongest stance
upend your defense
throw you down and help himself.
old days we escape, hock our pain for love.
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