May 16, 2025
More in Dregs & Other Unreadables after the landmine
i do not sit cross-legged when the grass is tall and the smell of summer is whisping through the fireflies
or after the first snow plays hide-n-seek between the brown dead blades
i do not sit cross-legged with your chestnut hair splayed wreckless on my lap
or after you tell me i don't love you anymore.
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