if there is a right way at all
though that's a philosophical
question, not therapeutic,
isn't it? So lay out the hands,
like tomorrow would've been
eleven years, but I'm just eating
my favorite chips, he couldn't
even name, even under the gun.
How am I married again,
to yet another man even,
even longer than I was to the first,
and we, he and I, laugh even, belly and all,
poking and prodding our lives
together and blended, a smoothie,
sip and savor as one, while I
cry at the word 'longing' just uneven
and alone in the word, shaking at
an emboldened, wild, future life,
I might even like, milking out the
whole of fat and cream life offers
how all I see, I think I should gift
to all the girls around me, unwanted stills.
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