is spun from you telling me
“Let Her Cry” by Hootie & the Blowfish
was huge the last year
you went to Bike Week
in Daytona.
Most days,
I don’t mind this umbilical cord—
until it coils,
wraps around a neck,
tightens like a boa,
choosing either you or me.
Between blue gasps for air,
I wonder
if we’re nearly a decade
into a beautiful, suffocating
mistake.
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