Sometime, late January,
you spent the night with a woman
watching the moon grow.

Come take me in my own abattoir.

I said,
I’m red hot and full of other people.
I had created a dalliant Beirut  in my bed
to occupy us.
you were outside in a corduroy jacket that smelled like me
ounting her freckles as stars
and i was slicing the inside of someone’s arm
to crawl inside for warmth and wait for us
to duel it out in the morning;
i was biting the inside of my cheek to taste
victory and she was on top of you,
showing you.
i had been waiting to show you
self immolation.

and that was the only
resolution I offered
so far.

#2

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