last time

the song of a thousand cycles
the sun. Can't blot out this
the cut that's driven when we
were young.

Our timely sleep.

Crawled through a screen door
the sun. was setting
we set up a fan at night
and broke our souls.

As youth washed out of
eggshell walls, we felt the
lines form and stretch,
in a river, in a bathroom...

honesty was for the dogs
disclosure was the feast of fools.
the Sun. rose bigger than I had thought
it dried the biggest sore, procured my youth.

And I see you, three smoky faces
pondering this sour taste
and this sour past of itching nights
I'm sorry, I can't hand a core back
and you can't give mine back,
what you took...

Because it's buried two years deep.