the missing comma

She wanted a long, lean body,
closed her eyes as she grabbed chubby hips
licked saggy tits,
tried to re-enter, womb over fist.


We make so much of this small discharge
of neurons,
this exclamation mark.

A flower-pot of love-sick soup
is ready on the back burner
Eat, my child. Eat my child. Eat.
We don’t really need another’s imprint.

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One Response to the missing comma

  1. mr says:

    Still, love this.

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