from a porch, it wasn’t deep enough for both of us

i’m sure it’s viable

if that’s the way you choose to live


if that’s the way you choose to give


if that’s where you choose to go

i left the disheveled cushions alone after i got up from the new yellow couch you bought from a friend

you looked confused

dressed for another occasion while i sang the blues for a god different than yours

she breathed fire and kept her pants down to fulfill the desire that comes before sundown and i ran to tell the others what you said

you pushed past caring

it was jarring, rewiring

soldering synapse connections, joining dendrites dipped in cynicism’s death-trap

i never was good at selling myself

the way you beat your chest whispering nothing into the side of my face, my good side

the cushions weren’t the only thing i pressed into and walked away from

you’ll never be the same, the cushions will regain an appearance of moments ago

with the right lift and push

you’ll be on the side of the road waiting for something to pick you up long before that couch is used for the last time

i should have picked up after myself

but that would have left you

nothing to remember me by

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