by Sara Fitzpatrick Comito
I want you
prostrated
by the damp
in the yard
weeping silently
as my music
seeps out
the window
with the sweat
of my onions.
I want you
to pound
with an
impotent fist
as my glass
goes clink,
so cute
it's impossible.
I want
your tears
as verses
useless
as semen
spent
on grass.
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This piece is amazing--I come back to read it over and over.
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