These days your name is a
phrase that tears on my ears,
and writing is like catching my foot on a nail
or stepping in broken glass someone left behind.
A phrase that tears on my ears, that
echoes, pierces the fabric of memory,
like stepping in broken glass that someone left behind;
it reminds me of objections left unvoiced.
Pierce the fabric of memory and
scream yourself to sleep without sound, without echoes.
Spring reminds me of objections left unvoiced;
of reluctant copulations and uncomfortable sweat.
Scream yourself to sleep without sound
while frontier battles rage in your breast.
Remembering the reluctant copulations and uncomfortable sweat,
my tongue trembles on the seal of the envelope I don’t know that I’ll send.
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