Pancakes On a Sunday Morning
He kicked the chair beneath his feet
Freeing himself
Forever in motion
Forever elevated
Forever caught in time
My brave solider
How sweet are your cries
Sweet as the cinnamon
On pancakes you told me to try
the first time we met.
The mixtures still fresh
yet the milks sour cow’s got his tongue out
your dead laughter fills the walls
the rope tightens.
So his glassy stare turns to stone
A smile whipped and cracked upon his face.
You’ve never looked so beautiful.
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