and i taped my tongue to the southern tip
of your body. our bones are too heavy
to come up, squished into a single cell of wood.
i made an excuse, you found another way
to tell the truth. i put no one else
above us. we'll still be best friends when
all turns to dust.
you are so smooth now. our edges are
beaten, drift wood widdled down.
old bodies slip when they make love.
we'll mine our sparks to shout us above.
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