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8 Ducklings through Mom
are enough to astound.
6 Alcott Lane, Greenhills.
Winton Woods playground.
Christmas Terry loved a TV
I loved Beach boy record
Kevin loved math books
we shared Umbilical Cord.
Each poem I write always seems less than your poems. Love won't leave me alone.
So Long, Cowboy
Red earth painted on your sun-kissed face
Marked the shadow of a veil
And the rim of your Stetson worn out

Was I really that mean to you?
To leave you in the dust
So that my sneakers feel the dry embrace of cracked pavement?

You walked to me barefoot at sundown
The fire outlining the silhouette of your ribs
In The Garden of Saint Paul’s Hospital

Your thin bones
Toothy smile
Fixed gaze

I’ll send you a postcard
You send me your love
Listened to "Nation of Two" by Vance Joy; "The Garden of Saint Paul's Hospital" by Vincent van Gogh
Adieu, Suzon, ma rose blonde,
Qui m'as aimé pendant huit jours ;
Les plus courts plaisirs de ce monde
Souvent font les meilleurs amours.
Sais-je, au moment où je te quitte,
Où m'entraîne mon astre errant ?
Je m'en vais pourtant, ma petite,
Bien ****, bien vite,
Toujours courant.

Je pars, et sur ma lèvre ardente
Brûle encor ton dernier baiser.
Entre mes bras, chère imprudente,
Ton beau front vient de reposer.
Sens-tu mon coeur, comme il palpite ?
Le tien, comme il battait gaiement !
Je m'en vais pourtant, ma petite,
Bien ****, bien vite,
Toujours t'aimant.

Paf ! c'est mon cheval qu'on apprête.
Enfant, que ne puis-je en chemin
Emporter ta mauvaise tête,
Qui m'a tout embaumé la main !
Tu souris, petite hypocrite,
Comme la nymphe, en t'enfuyant.
Je m'en vais pourtant, ma petite,
Bien ****, bien vite,
Tout en riant.

Que de tristesse, et que de charmes,
Tendre enfant, dans tes doux adieux !
Tout m'enivre, jusqu'à tes larmes,
Lorsque ton coeur est dans tes yeux.
A vivre ton regard m'invite ;
Il me consolerait mourant.
Je m'en vais pourtant, ma petite,
Bien ****, bien vite,
Tout en pleurant.

Que notre amour, si tu m'oublies,
Suzon, dure encore un moment ;
Comme un bouquet de fleurs pâlies,
Cache-le dans ton sein charmant !
Adieu ; le bonheur reste au gîte,
Le souvenir part avec moi :
Je l'emporterai, ma petite,
Bien ****, bien vite,
Toujours à toi.
Sometimes I avoid my own reflection;
How ironic for someone so vain?
This disillusioned caricature of me
Lives a life so removed from myself—
Thriving across the pond, In heteronormative fantasies,
Knowing that he too deserves love.
I know I deserve this love too,
But I hide from the mirror.
“To be free is to be handsome.”
Liv East + Emma Chamberlain
dwarfed and obscure,
sit neatly arranged for all to adore.
Parched from the aridity, neglected by the sun,
I the bonsai never truly begun.

Cast in the shadows, growing off to the side,
never fully *****, always wanting to hide.
I the bonsai have the capacity to grow,
a little warmth and attention is all I need you know.
In this married life—you and I,
I water the plants while you still slumber.
And when I return, your touch is a warm contrast to the cool linen,
Like hot sand beneath my feet as the water drips down towards my ankles.
In this married life—you and I,
I am pleasantly silent, taking it all in,
That I get to lie against this headboard,
In your old t-shirt and my GA shorts,
Admiring your sun-kissed skin.
Certainly I am disillusioned, but I choose to be.
Because finally, there’s a boy in my bed!
The same twenty-one year old I met in the university courtyard,
Except now he’s preoccupied with stools for our breakfast bar.
One Day; Dex & Em; envisioning a life like theirs for me—sans the tragic love.
Somethings I’m going to keep to myself
Like my secret Instagram crush
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