vodka burns and crimson sheets shift,
the burning fingers gripping my hips,
his scent is
hot and cooling
but her scent is sticking to him as well.
-&- and it’s not fair as honey-coated lips
life among the dead
(-&-stuff like that cause poets seem to lie)
arch and take within, yes he’s mine,
sleeping next to him,
I love you
whispered meanlessly.
( I seem to forget
addiction and methadone tasted lips
are rehearsed)
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Submission Name: Aulie
