it is not a knife
when you gut the fish,
it's your words.
you live in a cabin,
and when you leave the cabin
everything else becomes
the facade of the forest.
my roots are here, beneath
your words, beneath the wet earth,
i am a tree growing here,
spreading my branches
like a dancer,
i am grateful
for the way you **** me,
i am grateful for the way
i die like a fish,
flopping and gasping
for air. i wait for the fire
to come, it comes ever
summer
and when it comes
for
you,
i know the prayers
you whisper;
the cabin never
falls, the cabin never
burns,
and the river
never runs dry
Nov 26, 2017
Nov 26, 2017 at 5:03 PM UTC
it is not a knife
when you gut the fish,
it's your words.
you live in a cabin,
and when you leave the cabin
everything else becomes
the facade of the forest.
my roots are here, beneath
your words, beneath the wet earth,
i am a tree growing here,
spreading my branches
like a dancer,
i am grateful
for the way you **** me,
i am grateful for the way
i die like a fish,
flopping and gasping
for air. i wait for the fire
to come, it comes ever
summer
and when it comes
for
you,
i know the prayers
you whisper;
the cabin never
falls, the cabin never
burns,
and the river
never runs dry
