Tuesday, December 6, 2022

Prior Winters

The wedding and the garden getting more so all the time. Preach, herpetologists! In dreams I am no longer lost, my wandering serves a purpose by never concluding. The church comes to you, not the other way around. November is colder than we remember but then again we never speak of prior winters. Bread in the oven, money in the bank. Grunting coming inside her. A difficult love forging a cosmos in which it only gets harder. You ask if my heart is broken, why do you always ask that. An envelope large enough for all the love letters ever, and a love letter to that envelope. There is no misunderstanding here, there is no mistake, only the absence of promises. As high up and far away something beautiful and vast flies hard into the distance, breaking it once and for all.

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