i’ve eaten almost all of the promise and wonder if what’s left to share will dissolve in hungry thoughts. my lips feel laced with the sterility of need and my hands speak phrases of want. every evening brings a current carrying swells high enough to hold the rising scent of quivering fires that each morning are revived to ash. someday I’ll learn to write in more gentle ways, clearer ways , ways in which meanings don’t seem oceans and miles apart, ways where it doesn’t feel so toilsome to understand.

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