from grandpa’s chair, anxious in a rut

curled up and connecting

we don’t watch you anymore

stomach hanging out by the front door where diamond drenched doorstops held a reminder that you can come and go as you please without witnessing the deadened-end nail stuck firmly between my knees

where your fingers used to play

denim stretched and torn, worn out and waiting for fingers to slide in

tempt sin, against the skin

shadows hiding in ebb-and-flow tides the one who abides by the dude without a ranch hoping he can be more than window dressing up for another dance

this time he went alone

stuck to the wall

a flower never going through the motions of understanding the importance of being patient when ernest was fucking with verne and anchovies

i couldn’t lie about liking your favorite pizza anymore

if nothing said would help restore my pants pushing through saturday morning’s silence

i would

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