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Zywa Dec 2019
I look sideways at the flowers
I picked in the woods this morning
they stretch in the warmth
of my bedroom

outside, the rain rustles
over the traffic, the city
hidden behind the soft wall
of the curtains

the light from the clouds
shines broadly around
the candles on the plates
on the floor next to my bed

my skin is showered smooth
I brush the downy hair
this is me, to be loved
and coddled

I stroke my heart
it is not arousing
to whisper to myself
I love you

I stretch and pile pillows
under my buttocks, what shall I
fantasize, here I lie
as a queen
Fleaing is not: defleaing, but: removing skin flakes from the fur

For Maria Godschalk #59

Collection “Untwisted"
Jake McKowen May 2010
Brain racing, wors falling (or is it flowing?). *******.
Hand writing (righting?) the wrongs I've made.
Pen (pin?) scratching words on flesh that doesn't seem to feel.

Dog scratching (stretching?) after fleeing (fleaing?).
I don't know (care?) where it (I?) went wrong.
We loved (love?) each other.

We moved away (apart?) but not on.
When will (can?) it end?
It won't. It won't. It won't.

This doesn't end, this love (lust? loss?) we share.
We lay (lie?) alone together, apart together, in sin together.
In awe together.

Do you think (obsess?) about me?
This love is real (real?)
Cantstopwontstop. Why?
© Jake McKowen, 2010

— The End —