Tuesday, May 14, 2024

7 years dead

Maple branches burdened with windmill seeds
buldging and swaying like your breasts, large

Pine cones scatter, gapping wide welcome 
I was born of your womb, born of your young lust

Slimey as the algae green, shoes off, between toes
sitting next to dead baby birds, a nest disrupted 

Discarded lighter bobbing in a pond, succumbs
sinking to the bottom now living with the scum

Walking outside, thrust in a world bursting with sex
new babies, I  am a droplet that ran off a stream

Suddenly nubile, birthed into second youthful spring
it's deafening, so many cicadas fucking gleefully

I bristle when they say you died too young, I think
you just didn't say no, till your body gave out

If this is true, I'll end up living forever denying myself

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