My Old Friend Longing
Matt asks me how you are
and I’m reminded of a life I almost lived:
the one where I’d know the answer.
Here she comes gliding back.
She sits on my chest,
runs her hands down my throat.
Her fist white, my dead fish tongue greying
with an unutterable apology.
I lean into her grip. I don’t
know how to set myself free in the end.
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