behold a corrosive vapor
wafting through the atrium of
forgotten wood
we, the lachrymose
full regalia and organic sailcloth
as burnt clouds
commander sipping a
julep, talking shop, talking
the time everyone he knew
was killed by friendly fire,
talking out the window
dripping guilt from every
hair follicle in the charring
heat, glasses on, lost
when you held my hand and wept
in the atrium,
i'm sorry that i stabbed you
it's all meat, right
it's only temporary
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