if you're traveling
on the old country road,
remember me
sitting on the worn out passenger seat
with the beer stains on my collar
and dirt under my nails.
the time for apologies is up
and now I simply long for the
strawberries
nestled up in the skin of your neck
to clash with my briny lips,
and for the six letters of my name to
be the last
rolling off of your tongue for the night.
call me your darling, or
call me a nightmare;
either way,
I'm still left in your mouth
aren't I?



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