An Aria

October 8, 2009
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Crushed
Bloodied
Strawberries
close their
many eyes.
We are two
smiling
corpses.

The falsetto
equivalent
of a yes-man.
Every word was
accompanied
by a shower
of spittle.
I died
in a dream
and should
never more
awake.

His relief
had been
Premature.
The cream burned
like ice.
Why must you
disturb
my
Bliss?
They lived
on treacle
(precariously).

Y E S
I’m stalling.

Go ahead.
Fall.





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