Sunday

mowing my love

   harvest the
feelings left
in my gut
soggy marrow
  b e t w e e n
lost love
nuclear lust 
love that once 
had a definition
dule pistols
   don't make 
you stronger-
  midst the 
madness
  conscious 
beehives 
produce sweet cedar
for my lips have 
been naked 
far too long
orphans scream
while 
eternal virgins
weep

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